


Seeking His Hand

by magic__mind



Category: Death Note, Death Note & Related Fandoms
Genre: Alternate Universe - Historical, Arranged Marriage, Churches, Courtship, Crimes & Criminals, Dating, Detectives, F/M, Falling In Love, Fictional Religion & Theology, Historical Dress, Historical Inaccuracy, Historical References, Horses, Justice, Letters, Love Letters, M/M, Marriage, Martial Arts, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Patriarchy, Poison, Polytheistic Religion, Regency Romance, Romance, Same-Sex Marriage, Seme!L, Sick Character, Slow Build, Slow Burn, Sneaking Around, Training, Uke!Light, Unconventional Courtship 2015, Waistcoats, Waltzing, carriages, historical notions of purity, historically inaccurate courtship, or lack thereof, parents cramping Light's style, societal stratification, suitor - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-07-19
Updated: 2017-10-19
Packaged: 2018-04-10 01:52:08
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 128,725
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4372571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/magic__mind/pseuds/magic__mind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Soichiro asks: "Why do you want to marry my son?" </p><p>L stares at him for a moment, then sighs almost imperceptibly. "It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. …or husband."</p><p>A historical regency-esque romance AU in which L seeks Light's hand in marriage. And that's only the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter One

Soichiro Yagami is not a young man.

 

His knees creak when he sits, and when he stands. He can no longer crouch under the chassis of a broken carriage, or lay new tar patches on an old roof, or carry crates of ammunition to the policing station. He is aging like an oak tree in winter, and he knows it.

 

It matters to him - but not for reasons of vanity. He has never cared for looks beyond good grooming and personal hygiene. And Soichiro has married a good wife, who loves him for what he is inside. She doesn’t care if his outer shell is but a husk of what it once was.

 

Soichiro’s age matters to him because he is a provider, and after a certain age, a man can no longer provide what he once did for his family. Soichiro hasn’t reached that age (yet), but he knows it is coming, and he knows he must be prepared.

 

_To the Master of the Yagami Household, Mr. Soichiro Yagami:_

 

That is why he’s putting on a coat and tie, shining his shoes, reviewing the last month’s bank statements. He is preparing.

 

_I write to you as a Suitor of the most serious intent._

 

The morning is dawning bright and crisp. Birds are beginning their melodies, and roosters are already retiring for a nap. Soichiro requires strong coffee, and a stronger stomach. He loves his wife. He loves his children. He is not ready to imagine giving one of them up, no matter how old they have become, or how tall, or how intelligent or independent. He will never be ready, he fears.

 

_Your eldest child (a ‘child’ no longer, though you can perhaps excuse the limited diction of a Suitor in petition) will come of age this February, and, as I understand it, is yet un-Matched. It would be my great pleasure if you would do me the honor of entertaining my Suit, this Sunday hence, April 5 th, at your esteemed residence._

 

As he stares into the only mirror in his family’s house, combing his hair, he remembers when he was on the other side of letters like that. His words were never as well-scripted, his handwriting much poorer, but he remembers the necessity of humbling himself before Sachiko’s father. A suitor can be turned down flat for even the hint of egotism.

 

_Yours most sincerely, and respectfully,_

_L Lawliet_

 

Today is that very “Sunday hence,” and Soichiro is reminding himself that it is not for his own benefit that he agreed to meet with this Mr. Lawliet.

 

It is for Light’s.

 

Light is his firstborn, and everything that a father could ask for in a son. Soichiro loves him with a fierce pride, and a protectiveness that some might say would be more appropriate to display for a daughter (though Sayu, to be sure, enjoys the same protectiveness). But Light is growing up – in many ways, has been grown up for quite some time – and he is alone. It won’t do to leave him isolated, especially when Soichiro knows that one day, he will be too ancient to provide for Light himself.

 

So Soichiro must do what he can for his son, even if (right now) it feels like the doing of it will cause him to lose Light completely.

 

* * *

 

The carriage bringing Mr. Lawliet to Soichiro’s home is absolutely lavish. Drawn by four horses and shining with new black paint, it looks like the carriage of a prince. Through the four windows, Soichiro can see that six people could easily fit inside. There is only one, however, and at first glance, he doesn’t seem the type to ride in such a thing.

 

He is wearing a pure white poet’s shirt but no coat or vest. He wears no hat. When his driver opens the carriage door and he steps out of it (thoughtfully, deliberately, as if he has planned down to the second which movements he ought to make), Soichiro sees that the man is wearing only the plainest trousers and shoes whose heels are barely higher than their lawn’s short grass.

 

Nevertheless…the man must surely be Mr. Lawliet.

 

With a second look, though, it becomes clear that he _is_ the type to ride in something like that. Once out of the carriage, he carries himself with the careless air of the gentry class: clearly born into a land-owning family. Unused to outdoor labor, his skin is pale as porcelain. Unused to manual labor, his hands are clean and smooth.

 

Soichiro stands in the small front doorway, what could generously be called a foyer. He watches as Mr. Lawliet approaches the front steps. As this is the first Suit that Soichiro has ever entertained, he reminds himself of the stern yet benevolent confidence that Sachiko’s father displayed at his own Suit and tries to project that same air.

 

“Master Soichiro Yagami of the policehand’s academy,” Mr. Lawliet greets him. “I am L.”

 

* * *

They sit in the “parlor” of the house. More of a tiny den than anything, Soichiro offers Mr. Lawliet a chair there, and he takes it with cordial thanks. Soichiro takes the remaining seat directly across from him. The chairs are old but sturdy, with clean cushions, and there is a small wooden table in between. On the table lays Mr. Lawliet’s letter of Suit, and Soichiro’s ledger detailing the sum of Light’s dowry.

 

It feels in some absurd way like a business deal is being hammered out. In some ways, it very much is.

 

Sachiko had taken great care to set up a small tray of tea, milk, and sugar. Soichiro takes one cup, and Mr. Lawliet the other. He takes the liberty of piling six cubes of sugar into his.

 

“What is your family’s business, Mr. Lawliet?” asks Soichiro. The name of Lawliet is unheard of in their town.

 

“Just L will do, if you please. My grandfather began several enterprises,” Mr. Lawliet says. His voice is a low, rumbling murmur. “He is an inventor, chiefly. Then he turned to philanthropy, which he still continues. And most recently, he has tasked himself with training detectives.”

 

Soichiro nods. He admits to himself that he is impressed. “A renaissance man, I take it.”

 

“Quite,” Mr. Lawliet answers, sipping his tea.

 

“And what line of his work do you yourself follow?”

 

Mr. Lawliet presents Soichiro with a wry smile. “I am a detective.”

 

“Have you caught many criminals?” asks Soichiro, curious.

 

“My fair share,” Mr. Lawliet says mildly.

 

A few beats of silence ensue. Deciding to cut directly to the chase, Soichiro asks: “Why do you want to marry my son?”

 

One corner of Mr. Lawliet’s lips twitches, almost as if in humor. “I’m given to understand that most fathers don’t bother to ask why. Apparently, most ask, ‘how much gold will it take to get my offspring off of my accounts and into yours?’”

 

Soichiro nods, acknowledging the usual route of these sorts of conversations, but he says nothing further. He truly does want an answer – and preferably, an honest one.

 

Mr. Lawliet stares at him for a moment, then sighs almost imperceptibly. “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife. …or husband."

 

Soichiro makes a thoughtful “hmm” sort of sound, thinking that perhaps elaboration is forthcoming.

 

“I am a widower, Master Yagami. And I am told that two years is far too much time for a man as young as I am to be going on alone.”

 

* * *

 “I must be honest with you, Mr. Lawliet - "

 

“Please, Master Yagami. Call me L.”

 

Soichiro shifts in his chair, clears his throat. Nods reluctantly. “L. I must be honest with you. Light’s dowry is not nearly the size that he deserves. I have worked hard to save for this time in his life, but with a policehand’s wages such as they are…”

 

L raises one hand, stopping Soichiro’s meager words. “Think nothing of the money, Master Yagami. I daresay I have enough for the both of us.”

 

Soichiro can’t say that he is surprised. L’s letter was written on cream-colored sheepskin (expensive) and in ink made of crushed violets (more expensive still). Soichiro knew that he must be at least marginally wealthy.

 

If he is being honest with himself, the money _does_ matter. Light needs a secure future…why else are they having this conversation? And if L _doesn’t_ care about finances, why negotiate a Suit at all? It isn’t as if Light can give him children.

 

Because it’s clear that L truly doesn’t care about the financials. He is dressed in plainclothes; no jewelry. No purse ringing with gold pieces colliding against each other. He doesn’t even wear a nobleman’s wig.

 

Soichiro tries to think of a way to voice his confusion without sounding insulting or obtuse.

 

L is not patient enough for him to work out the phrasing. “In any case, I trust your judgment. You’re an upstanding citizen, you provide for your family, and as far as I can tell, you are faithful in all things. So, in regards to the dowry, draw up a contract of what you feel is fair. I shall sign it even if your son comes to me without two coppers to rub together,” he says.

 

If money is _that_ inconsequential, Soichiro thinks, there must be something else at play. But what?

 

“Do you know Light?” he asks.

 

“Not personally, of course. But I have some skill in deducing the characters of men, and your son strikes me as….well. He has struck me.”

* * *

 

L is polite, respectful. He dutifully plays the part of humble Suitor. Soichiro can find no fault in his manners, honesty, or pocketbook. Light has gotten other Offers before this one, of course. He is a handsome boy, and many Suitors have taken note. In fact, they have told Soichiro in no uncertain terms that his looks are enough to make up for his inadequate dowry. Some have been downright crude about it – Soichiro turned all of them down on the spot. Nothing in L’s words matched that sort of an attitude. In fact, Soichiro wonders if Light’s appearance was even what L was referring to when he said Light had “struck” him.

 

L leaves with more cordial words of thanks. After the door is shut behind him, Soichiro doesn’t discard his letter as he did all of the others. He places it carefully back into its crisp envelope, ties the ribbon closing the flap just so. The letter sits quietly for two days while he ponders his decision.

 

* * *

 

This is one tradition he hopes to only undertake once. He wants to do it right. Sachiko still keeps the Offer letter that Soichiro gave to her father, inside a cherry wood box on top of their chest of drawers.

 

Soichiro hopes he has chosen correctly. Can a father ever _really_ know?

 

In the end, only time will tell. There is work to be done today, and Light will be waking soon. It will not do for him to dawdle. Since Soichiro has decided to entertain L’s Suit, he must now show Light his letter.

 

Light sleeps in the kitchen. There aren’t enough bedrooms in the house for both he and Sayu, and Light had long ago concluded that the most logical solution was for him to sleep in the kitchen, so that Sayu’s privacy could be maintained.

 

“Sayu’s growing up, Dad,” Light had pointed out, reasonably, at the age of twelve. “She wants her own room and neither of us would be comfortable sharing it at this point. So I’ll just sleep down here. It’s warmer anyway, and Sayu can have all of her girl stuff in there.”

 

Older now, at the tender age of eighteen, Light maintains his composed rationality. He has slept in the kitchen ever since that day. His bed is nothing luxurious, and Soichiro knows that it is not the most comfortable thing in the world. But Light has never complained. Even now, he sleeps in tranquility.

 

Soichiro quietly, carefully slips L’s envelope under Light’s pillow. Light will find it in the morning – Soichiro knows that he always checks. He has caught Light at it several mornings now. Light swipes his hand casually, quickly, but thoroughly under his pillow, and, finding nothing, rises to begin the day, no discernable emotional reaction on his face. It is tradition to find one’s Offer letter (or letters, if things fall apart midway through an engagement) underneath a pillow at some point between the eighteenth and nineteenth birthdays. Soichiro cannot tell whether Light checks for his own so dutifully because he is eager for it, or terrified.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so happy to see this fandom picking up again! 
> 
> I must give credit where credit is due: 
> 
> Firstly, to BC3. She is my everything, and the whole idea for this fic came from her, as well many significant plot and backstory developments. Though the actual text of the chapter was from me, I consider this fic collaboration with her. Just as our lives are a collaboration. ;)
> 
> Next, I must cite Jane Austen’s famous quote: “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.”
> 
> If certain customs or cultural references seem familiar to you, they very likely are. I have pulled from various historical practices, as well as creating a few of my own. I wouldn’t call this fic’s universe strictly a Regency historical romance, but there are several ways in which it will fit the genre.
> 
> I hope you all enjoyed our contribution to the Death Note Fandom Revival. Heh. More of this fic is definitely to come!
> 
> \- Magic


	2. Chapter Two

**Seeking His Hand**

**Chapter Two**

 

Light wakes up to the sound of Mother serving breakfast. There are bowls and spoons tinkling against each other. The air smells of cornmeal porridge and apple cider.

 

Light doesn’t open his eyes yet. He likes to use the precious seconds after waking but before rising to savor the only kind of solitude he has: the privacy that comes with no one knowing you are awake but you.

 

Today will be filled with more plowing, more planting. There are sacks upon sacks of corn that need to go into the ground. It is what Light’s entire day will be consumed with, except just before bed, when he will help Sayu with her arithmetic. He’s teaching her, but the progress he sees is slower than he sees with the planting.

 

Every day this month will be the same.

 

With a valiant attempt at subtlety, Light swipes his hand underneath his pillow, from one end to the other. He doesn’t really expect a letter to be there (there never has been one before). But he is nothing if not thorough. And if he is being promised to someone, he would rather know sooner than later.

 

There is something.

 

Light’s heart stutters painfully in his chest and then sets off at a frighteningly fast pace. There is a letter. Right there against his fingers.

 

He cannot pretend to be asleep any more. He must read it. He absolutely must.

 

His eyes snap open and he sits bolt upright in bed, ripping the small envelope out from its hiding place. It is crisp and costly-looking. There is a small purple ribbon securing the flap closed and Light takes the end of it with trembling fingers. He wills himself to calm down. A teenager like him gets a letter like this every day, all around the country. He doesn’t need to give himself a dizzy spell over it.

 

It’s just his future, and the stranger that currently holds it.

 

His mother is currently busy at the hearth, still spooning porridge into bowls. Her back is to Light, which gives him a small window of opportunity. He can read the letter undisturbed.

 

Anxiously, but with care, Light reads every line. The Suitor’s vocabulary is extensive. Light has never had the sort of language classes that would allow him to speak that way, but he reads whenever he can get his hands on a book, and he figures out those words that are unfamiliar through context.

 

_To the Master of the Yagami Household, Mr. Soichiro Yagami:_

 

_While we have never been formally acquainted, I have been made aware, through various avenues, of your venerable honesty and reputation for diligence. I have no doubt that in matters of Family and Honor, you put such traits to great work. From these suppositions, I have confidence that a Suitor of either of your children would be put to great scrutiny._

_Therefore, I address myself to you now._

_I write to you as a Suitor of the most serious intent._

 

_Your eldest child (a ‘child’ no longer, though you can perhaps excuse the limited diction of a Suitor in petition) will come of age this February, and, as I understand it, is yet un-Matched. It would be my great pleasure if you would do me the honor of entertaining my Suit, this Sunday hence, April 5 th, at your esteemed residence._

_I hope to answer to your satisfaction any and all questions you must surely have regarding my Profession and my Character. I am earnest in my Suit and desire nothing but the best for your beloved son._

 

_Yours most sincerely, and respectfully,_

_L Lawliet_

 

When he reaches the end of the letter, Light’s mind finds itself blank with shock. Then, it spurs into action: conclusions and uncertainties together firing off at a rapid pace, like bullets from a pistol.

 

This Suitor…L Lawliet…he is educated.

 

 _Well_ educated.

 

Which means he is almost certainly well-off, and quite possibly wealthy. Quite possibly Gentry.

 

Aristocracy, even? Surely not. That would be one step from unthinkable.

 

How difficult to conceive of a high-born man petitioning for _Light Yagami_. Light knows that his dowry cannot be more than a fraction of what a high-born female’s would be, and he is saddled with the added disadvantage of being male, which means no possibility of children.

 

Why would someone high born refuse to have children?

 

Maybe this Mr. Lawliet already _has_ children?

 

What if he does? What if he doesn’t? Neither here nor there…not the matter at hand. The matter at hand: why is he petitioning for someone like Light?

 

Light knows the way the world works. Even if he is intelligent, even if he is moral, even if he is well-mannered, or handsome, or tall, there is no making up for the unfortunate truths of his life: he is not moneyed, and neither is his family. He is not educated. He is not employed in a trade, or an apprenticeship. He is the eldest son of a Tradesman, which makes him little more than a female in most of the world’s eyes. And in all of the world’s eyes, he is _not_ more than a high-born female. Men of low families either manage to convince a female of a low family to marry them for love, or are married off themselves to the most advantageous male Suitor possible.

 

That is often the punishment for being born low: no children to carry on the family name.

 

Certainties so far: Mr. Lawliet is unorthodox (the full extent of which Light cannot yet know). He is educated. He has some of the best handwriting this side of the East river. He is petitioning for Light’s hand in marriage.

 

And lastly, he has convinced Light’s father that he would be a good husband for Light.

 

The last one is the most telling. For anyone, much less a perfect stranger, to convince Light’s father of their sincerity, they would have to be either a) actually sincere or b) a very talented liar. Father is particularly skilled in telling a snake from a swan. He is not unassailable, of course, but…

 

“Oh my goodness! Light, you found it!”

 

The voice is Mother’s. She is wiping her hands frantically with her apron and rushing toward Light. When she reaches him, she gathers him close and kisses his forehead, pride pouring out of every inch of her.

 

“I just knew we’d find you the perfect Match. Isn’t it wonderful? A Gentryman! Your father says his carriage was absolutely luxurious!” Mother is beaming as she speaks. “And he said he was very polite, and just as honest as any one of us. You know what sort of reputation high-born men have…but Mr. Lawliet didn’t seem one inch of that, your father says. And he says with a Match like that, you would never have to worry for money one day in your life! Oh, Light, it’s exactly what you’ve always deserved. You’ve always been such a good boy and now here you are: this is the gift the gods give to those of pure hearts!”

 

Light smiles politely. He understands that Mother is not trying to make him feel as though he is a pitiable, unfortunate creature who has happened, through luck, to have been given a way out of his circumstances. She is simply glad that her child won’t reach adulthood only to die of starvation on the streets. Nevertheless, Light cannot help but feel a rising sense of indignance at her words. He is not helpless. He is not weak. He doesn’t need someone else to save him from his own problems.

 

Similarly, how exactly did he “deserve” a stranger coming in and swooping him out of the house and home he’d known since birth?

 

“And he isn’t very far from your own age! Not one of those wealthy old bachelors just wanting a young buck to clean their mansions for them,” his mother continues, oblivious to Light’s offense.

 

He adds one more certainty to the list: L Lawliet is relatively young.

 

“Mom,” Light says quietly. “Surely if he’s rich, he can afford a maid or two.”

 

“Well, certainly,” Mother says, waving one of her hands about. “But it’s nice to know that he isn’t planning to use you as an employee, isn’t it?”

 

 _Just planning to use me as a bed-warmer_ , Light thinks bitterly. _So much better._

 

He doesn’t voice his thoughts. Nothing good comes from arguing with his parents, and proving himself right wouldn’t better his situation in the slightest way anyway. Light knows that his parents have only ever done their best for him. They both think this L Lawliet is what’s best – that’s the only reason Father would ever agree to talk to him. So Light won’t fight the situation.

 

Not yet, anyway. Not unless he’s sure there’s something to fight _about_.

 

He smiles and nods vaguely at his mother, who nods briskly and brushes crumbs off of her apron.

 

“Sayu should be coming down for breakfast any moment…” she says, half to herself. “She has Schoolhouse today….she can’t be late again….Sayu! SAYU!” Mother yells, turning her face to the ceiling, as if Sayu will be compelled to listen if she only faces the right direction.

 

“I’m coming!” Sayu shouts back, from the upper floor. Seconds later, there are hurried footsteps pounding down the stairs.

 

Then Sayu comes into view, hair braided back and dress rumpled but otherwise in place. She is smiling brightly, as she always is, and her eyes are shining with excitement. Sayu loves school. Not because it’s a place of learning, of course. It’s the other kids that she loves. Sayu is a social creature, which Light can understand intellectually but not intrinsically.

 

“Good morning, Mom!” she sings out. “Good morning, Light!”

 

Light braces himself, knowing what is coming next. _Three….two…one…_

Sayu’s eyes quickly sweep over Light’s face and fall to what he is holding. They linger there before she gasps out, “Light! Is that…oh, my stars! It is! Light! You got your letter!”

 

Light hopes very much that his Father doesn’t make quite the amount of fuss that his mother and sister seem inclined to. Father has always been more stoic than either of them. But, Light remembers, he is still quite capable of making a scene, albeit in his own way.

 

“Good morning, Sayu,” Light replies. “Yeah….finally got one.”

 

“One? Light, that’s going to be _the_ letter!” Sayu insists. “I can feel it! Haru Toshino has gone through _four_ letters already. Can you believe it? Ha! Nobody is working out for her. But yours will be the one and only. I just know it.”

 

“How could you possibly know that, Sayu?” Light asks, moving to tuck the letter under his pillow again.

 

“Wait!” she protests. “I want to see it!”

 

“Sayu,” Mother admonishes mildly. “Letters of Petition are supposed to be private. And you’re going to be late for Schoolhouse if you don’t eat your breakfast now.”

 

Sayu throws herself into her wooden chair at the table, crossing her arms over each other and looking every inch the thirteen-year-old girl she is. “That’s cow dung,” she mutters.

 

“Sayu!” Mother exclaims.

 

“Well it is!” complains Sayu. “Father got to see it, didn’t he?”

 

“Of course he did,” Light says. “It was addressed to him, wasn’t it?”

 

“And you got to see it!” Sayu continues, facing Mother and ignoring Light’s comment.

 

“Your father generously allowed me to read it, yes, Sayu. I’m Light’s mother and he thought I would enjoy seeing it.”

 

“See?! And Light’s read it too – so everyone has read it but me! It’s not fair!”

 

“You’ll read your own letter when you’re of the age to get one, Sayu, and Light won’t see that one. So it will be fair.” Mother tells her, placing a bowl, spoon, and a glass of cider in front of her. “I won’t hear another word about it. Now eat.”

 

* * *

 

That night at dinner, Father comes home early, which is unheard of. Light can’t remember the last time he’s ever done that. Work at the police station isn’t exactly nonstop, in a town like theirs, but there’s never a shortage of things to do, either. Only a handful of men run the entire place. So Father is often not back home until after dark.

 

Light has never been allowed to go with him to the station, but he hears things. He is a good listener. Many of the neighbors are terrible gossips, so Light knows about the market theft last week and the suspicious death of the deputy mayor, Mr. Founder. He was found dead in his home, apparently of old age, but his housekeeper managed to discover a cracked vial of belladonna in his fireplace the following morning. Surely Father has been busy with these occurrences and wouldn’t leave the perpetrators to roam free.

 

 _The world is rotten_ , Light thinks. _Rotten and unfair._

 

There are only a handful of events monumental enough to warrant an early homecoming in Father’s eyes.

 

“Hello, everyone,” he is saying as he takes his place at the table. Food is already set out on it, and the rest of the family is halfway into the meal. Today, like most days, they are eating crusty bread and cheese, with hasty pudding. Mother has set out just enough candles to light the house dimly. She is trying to conserve. They cast flickering shadows across all the walls, but Light doesn’t mind in the least. A bit of darkness affords a lot of privacy.

 

“Hello, dear,” Mother replies warmly, jumping out of her seat to prepare a plate for him. In all his years, Light has never seen his Father set food upon his own plate. “You’re home early!”

 

“Dad!” Sayu sings out. “Guess what? Today at Schoolhouse? I got the highest marks in the class on our arithmetic exam!”

 

Father smiles and pats Sayu’s head. “Very good. Your hard work with Light is paying off. Isn’t that right, son?”

 

Light nods. He swirls his pudding around in his bowl without taking another bite. Now that he has figured out the reason Father is home early, he finds that he has lost his appetite.

 

“The men at the station told me they could handle closing up for the night. It was very generous of them. We haven’t caught that market thief, true enough, but Sargent Wakahisa believes we will have him cornered tomorrow. And Sargent Wakahisa has never yet been wrong.” Father explains all of this with his characteristic honesty. He speaks of being directed by another man with no resentment or ego.

 

Light hopes that one day, he will be able to do the same.

 

Then, belatedly, he realizes that he will never have the chance to work at all. His future is all but set in stone: he is to be someone else’s husband, and nothing more.

 

“And Light has some big news of his own, dear,” Mother pointedly reminds Father. She circles the table to put Father’s food in front of him, along with a spoon, and a glass of water.

 

“That’s very true,” Father says. He gives Light a warm, proud smile.

 

Light smiles back, eyes downcast. He can’t quite bring himself to meet his Father’s eyes. Nothing Light has done has led him to the Offer he received. Light’s never met L Lawliet, and as far as he can reason, the man only petitioned for his hand because Light’s face is more symmetrical than most.

 

“So, son…” Father continues, taking a spoonful of pudding. “What do you think of your Match?”

 

Light has no idea what to say. He doesn’t _know_ his Match, and that’s the entire problem. While he contemplates what reply to give, a second train of thought takes off inside his mind: things he knows for certain about Mr. Lawliet, and what things might be reasoned from those facts.

 

_Someone close to my age…someone well-educated….someone unusual, but either a very skilled con artist or genuinely trustworthy…someone whose name is not well known (or is unknown) in the community, apart from this Suit. Someone who would choose - not just settle for - a male Match. Someone wealthy._

There aren’t so many places that Mr. Lawliet could be hiding, if hiding is what he is doing. The town isn’t so very big, and all the modest houses are filled with families that Light already knows. Mr. Lawliet is definitely living in one of the larger ones, then. Living in anything smaller than an Artisan or Tradesman’s home would ruin his reputation, even if he _would_ prefer his wealth to be inconspicuous.

 

Something tells Light that he would.

 

A map of the outlying manors begins to draw itself inside Light’s head. He doesn’t know any of the owners personally, of course. But he’s heard of who occupies at least two, and that’s a start, at least.

 

“I really appreciate the effort you and Mother put into selecting the best Suitor you could for me,” Light says. He pushes a bit of bread around on his plate. “I have every hope that everything will work out with Mr. Lawliet.”

 

It isn’t a lie. Light knows that as long as L Lawliet isn’t some kind of scoundrel, his Offer letter is the Yagami family’s ticket to security. A wealthy son-in-law would mean Mother and Father would be taken care of after Father can no longer work. And a wealthy brother-in-law would mean that Sayu’s chances of receiving an advantageous Offer would increase once she came of age herself. So Light does fervently hope that this Suit works out.

 

Even if he is nervous, and even if he resents having to be Offered for in the first place.

 

On the other hand, Light is also well aware of himself and his limits. If Mr. Lawliet _is_ a scoundrel, Light cannot and will not bring himself to share a bed with the man – no matter the potential advantages to his family.

 

So Light must know what sort of man Mr. Lawliet is before the wedding. In fact, it would be better to have this information before the Match Celebration.

 

“I’m sure it will, Light.” Father says confidently. “Mr. Lawliet is a good man, and you are a good boy. It’s a good match. To be honest with you, I’m so happy at the prospect that it’s the main reason I left work a little earlier than usual tonight. The family should celebrate our son and brother’s engagement.”

Mother beams, Sayu sulks (no doubt still upset that she is not privy to the letter), and Light contemplates diving headfirst into his hasty pudding.

 

“Light, that’s something else to consider. Celebrations!” Mother exclaims. “We need to plan your Match Celebration!”

 

Maybe it would be better to skip diving into his pudding, and simply allow himself to fall into the backyard pond.

 

“What sort of colors do you fancy for the dinner?” asks Mother. “I know you’ve always been partial to reds…”

 

“I’m really not particular, Mother,” Light answers. “Decorate with whatever is easiest for you.”

 

“Liiiigggghhhhhtt!” whines Sayu. “This is your Match Celebration! Don’t you want to pick all the colors and the food and the songs and the guest list and the –“

 

“I’m not picky,” Light tells Mother. “Really. Just make choices based on whatever is easiest for you. Or most economical. I’m sure it will turn out lovely.”

 

“Are you sure, Light? You know that you can ask for anything…we’ve saved up a bit for this, you know.”

 

“I know. I’m just not that particular. Really.”

 

* * *

 

For Light, books have always been difficult to come by. When he was still in Schoolhouse, he would read and read and read, devouring novels and histories, textbooks and ledgers. Anything he could get his hands on. But now that Light no longer has any classes to go to, he has no more books to read.

 

Except one.

 

Father keeps a book in his and Mother’s room: a small black one, with tattered covers. It has been flipped through and referenced many times. Inside the book is a list of all the street addresses in town, and all the family names associated with them. There are also dates next to each listing, marking when the information was recorded.

 

Light _needs_ that book.

 

He needs to look up the Lawliet family name. If it is not listed - and he doesn’t think it will be - Light may still be able to figure out where Mr. Lawliet lives, based on a process of identifying those names likely to be pseudonyms and visiting each of those residences until he comes upon the man himself. A process of elimination. Tedious, but likely to be effective.

 

It is work that Light will gladly perform. He needs to meet Mr. Lawliet and test him. The only certain way to get a reliable judge of his character is to interact with him face to face.

 

One cannot win with defense alone. To win, one must strike first. One must attack.

 

Over the course of several days, Light takes advantage of times in which Mother is occupied outside of her and Father’s room to go in and study the book. He makes careful notes on the locations of the larger manors in the area, as well as the names associated with them. As expected, the name of Lawliet is not on any of the pages. After eliminating those surnames that Light is already familiar with (usually through neighborhood gossip), and those surnames whose histories are so far-reaching and influential that they were taught to him in Schoolhouse, Light has two remaining.

 

It is among these two surnames, these two manors, that Light will find his man.

 

He keeps the list of them, along with the street addresses, in his pocket at all times. He needs to be prepared to visit the manors at a moment’s notice, if the opportunity arises.

 

Light is prepared for the possibility that this method won’t yield results for him. Maybe Mr. Lawliet is too well-guarded to allow his street address to appear in _any_ ledgers at all. But it is the best plan Light has, and he will follow it through. He can’t simply sit by and wait. It would be unthinkable.

 

* * *

 

It is Sunday, and the Yagami family is at church. Sundays are always reserved for church. Oftentimes, Light will find himself there for most of the day. In the beginning, there is prayer. Each person of able body spends one hour in prostrated position while they (ostensibly) pray to the gods for health, wealth, peace, and happiness. Not necessarily in that order.

 

Over the past few years, Light has noticed that Father can tolerate prostrated position less and less. Sometime in the future, he will join the group of elders who can no longer participate.

 

After prayer comes sermon. One of the elders will stand and recite oral histories of the gods. They may or may not include personal experiences demonstrating the power of the gods in their lives. Sermon can be over in fifteen minutes or several hours, depending on which elder speaks. Light still remembers a sermon of particular length, in which an elder recited her entire family tree back six generations.

 

After sermon comes fellowship. This is the part of Sundays that Light finds most tiring. It is essentially a buffet and social gathering. Every family brings a dish and proceeds to sample other dishes, while making small talk with most members of the town. They gather outside of the church house, in a large, open field with few trees. Light has never found himself to have much in common with anyone. He forces himself to politely engage a few churchgoers in conversation, but never feels any satisfaction from the exchanges. He always ends up wishing he had a book with which to occupy himself.

 

This particular Sunday, however, Light is in luck. Mother, Father, and Sayu have all been sucked into conversation with Mistress Sasaki – the elder known for giving the longest sermon in Light’s memory. Light sees that even Mother, who is nearly infinite in her patience, is yawning behind her hand. Light escaped the quicksand of Mistress Sasaki’s conversation by citing extreme thirst and excusing himself to the cider keg.

 

All of this means that Light will have a certain amount of time to execute his plan. With any luck, Mistress Sasaki will have his family occupied for over an hour. Long enough to take a carriage ride across town, have a short conversation, and return to the church fairgrounds with no one the wiser. If anyone does notice Light’s absence, he can always claim a heat spell and say that he was lying under a tree, dozing.

 

Time is therefore of the essence. Light must find…

 

“Oh my stars! Light Yagami!”

 

Sweet, sweet fortune.

 

Matsuda, the town taxi-carriage driver, is approaching, waving one hand eagerly in Light’s direction. Matsuda is only a few years older than Light and has known him since childhood. He is ordinary-looking in every way. While his extreme extraversion is sometimes tiresome, Light appreciates Matsuda’s genuine good heartedness. He is also counting this quality to assist him today.

 

“Hello, Matsuda,” Light answers. Matsuda claps him on the back when he reaches him, a huge smile painted on his face.

 

“Congratulations on your Match! Everyone’s talking about it!” he exclaims enthusiastically. Rather like a puppy, Matsuda is always enthusiastic. About everything.

 

“I’m sure not everyone can be that interested in it,” Light murmurs. At least, he hopes not.

 

“They are, though!” Matsuda insists. “They say a mysterious rich guy Offered for you. Is it true?!”

 

Light glances left and right, making sure no one is paying attention to their conversation. Then, he takes Matsuda by the forearm.

 

“Whoa, what –“ Matsuda sputters, as Light leads him to the edge of the fairgrounds.

 

Light stops when he is certain they are out of earshot of anyone in the vicinity.

 

“Yes, it’s true.” Light answers, wanting to get the news out of the way. Matsuda gasps hugely, but before he can respond, Light continues. “Matsuda, I need a favor. Can you take me to Silver Hills?”

 

Matsuda blinks several times, like his brain is straining to follow Light’s words. For all Light knows, it is.

 

“Silver Hills? Why would you want to go to Silver Hills?”

 

“It’s just something I have to do. I can’t ask Mother or Father for fare money…they can’t know that I’m going. I’ll only be there for a little while…a few minutes at most…can you take me there?”

 

Of the two addresses that Light has narrowed Mr. Lawliet’s location down to, he has no way of deducing which one is more likely to be _the_ one. Since he has no evidence one way or the other, he has chosen based on a hunch. He has a fifty-fifty chance. If Light has chosen wrongly, he will simply have to wait for his next opportunity to reach the other manor. And hope that such an opportunity presents itself _before_ the Match Celebration. Mother is planning it as quickly as she can.

 

If he has chosen correctly, so much the better. For in that case, Light can implement his next plan.

 

“Why can’t you tell your parents? Is this something dangerous?” Matsuda asks. He looks at Light suspiciously.

 

“Nothing dangerous at all,” Light says with a smile. He does his best to appear the charming, good boy he has always been. “I just need to see somebody, that’s all.”

 

“Who?”

 

Light feels himself growing impatient. The clock is ticking. “Does it matter, Matsuda? Can you take me? Please?”

 

Matsuda stares at Light for several beats, then makes a final-sounding “hmm” noise. He says, “I’ll take you on one condition.”

 

“What would that be?”

 

“You have to tell me _why_ you want to go to Silver Hills and who you’re meeting there. You know it’s not allowed for a Matched person to meet somebody in secret!”

 

Light sighs. Technically, he isn’t allowed to spend time with anyone but immediate family without others present. Even his own Suitor.

 

Light feels his window of opportunity growing ever smaller. But he may not get another chance like this for some time…he has no choice.

 

“Alright….but Matsuda, you mustn’t tell a soul.”

 

“I won’t! I promise!” says Matsuda earnestly.

 

“The truth is….I’m going to meet my Suitor.”

 

Matsuda gasps even more dramatically than before. He claps his hand to his open mouth, then rips it away just as quickly. “Light! You can’t do that! You know what will happen if you’re caught fraternizing with your Suitor! You’ll –“

 

“I’m not going to be _fraternizing_ with him. I’m just going to meet him. I can’t just marry somebody I’ve never met, Matsuda. Please try to understand. I know a lot of people do it. I know it’s not that uncommon. But it’s just not me. I have to make sure he’s at least a decent man. You can understand that, can’t you? Technically, I won’t even be speaking to him in private. I’ll meet him at the door. You can watch us from the carriage. The whole time.”

 

Light declines to tell Matsuda that he may or may not have Mr. Lawliet’s address correct. There will be time to admit to being incorrect about it later, if he has to. He also declines to say that if L Lawliet is _not_ a decent man, Light will do everything in his power to sabotage the entire Match.

 

Matsuda’s brown eyes nearly melt with sympathy. Light hates seeing that pitying, understanding look directed toward him. He clenches his jaw and bears it.

 

“Alright, Light. You know you can always count on me to help you out. I’m your friend.” Matsuda takes Light’s shoulder in his hand and squeezes it. “Come on. The carriage is right over there. I know I’m not supposed to be working on Sunday, but….this is for a good cause.”

 

“Thank you, Matsuda. I appreciate that.”

 

Climbing into Matsuda’s taxi-carriage, Light reflects on the subject of this Sunday’s sermon. It was humility. Clearly, the gods have seen fit to teach him the meaning of the word.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for the lovely comments/reviews, kudos, favorites, and follows! Each one motivates me that much more to continue this project. :)
> 
> Thank you also, as always, to BC3. She has provided many more plot points and outlining for this fic. I couldn’t be more grateful. 
> 
> If any of you are wondering, here is a description of hasty pudding (from Wikipedia, because I’m quite the refined scholar): 
> 
> "Hasty pudding is a pudding or porridge of grains cooked in milk or water. In the United States, it invariably refers to a version made of ground corn."
> 
> For those who are unfamiliar, belladonna is a substance used in the ancient times for poison, pain relief, and beautification. The word literally translates to “beautiful woman.” Roman women would place drops of it into their eyes to dilate their pupils, which they believed increased their attractiveness. Belladonna is still in use today, often mixed with opium, to serve as a pain reliever. It is a controlled substance because of its ability to produce hallucinations and delirium. 
> 
> Look at that: fanfic and pharmacology together. Lol 
> 
> Coming up next: Light and L make contact!
> 
> \- Magic


	3. Chapter Three

The journey from the church fairgrounds to the city center is bumpy. Light feels every dip and crack in the dry, dusty road as the carriage lumbers along. It is not that Matsuda is an incompetent coachman but rather that his carriage is secondhand and badly in need of new wheels. Light knows that Matsuda himself is lowborn, not yet married or even Matched, and so he has no spare capital to repair it. It is unjust. Matsuda is deserving - for his kindness and hard work if not for his intelligence - and a fair society would give him a loan with which to better his taxiing business.

 

“Are you _sure_ you want to do this, Light?” Matsuda calls out, when they reach a huge junction in the road. Silver Hills lies to the West. To the East, there is Torriland, from which Light has never heard anything positive.

 

“I’m sure, Matsuda,” answers Light. He understands that many people often second-guess their plans, or require the reassurance of others to follow through on a decision. This is why Matsuda assumes he needs another opportunity to think through his plans.

 

Light, however, is unlike most individuals. He always spends an adequate amount of time dissecting each facet of his ideas before implementing them. In all practical cases, he forms a backup plan, and a backup plan for that plan. At the time of designing his current endeavor, Light had run through no less than seven possible scenarios. He knows what he’s doing.

 

“What’s going to happen when your parents find out you’re missing, though?” Matsuda presses. The carriage remains stationary at the junction, and Light feels every bit of lost time like a fresh paper cut under his thumbnail. 

 

“I’ll tell them that I was resting. It’s planting season…they know I’ve been tired lately.”

 

“If you’re sure…” Matsuda trails off, looking over his shoulder meaningfully. His gaze meets Light’s through the carriage’s makeshift window – as if to ask _are you really,_ really _sure?_

 

Light nods once, sharply. The carriage finally moves again, taking the Western road.

 

Along the way, Light occupies himself with yet more planning. It is imperative that he handle the meeting with exactly the right amount of poise, maturity, and (regrettably) allure. With the slightest miscalculation, his Suitor could decide that a lowborn, uneducated farm boy is no Match for a Gentryman after all. And then the Yagami family’s future security will go up in smoke.

 

Assuming that Mr. Lawliet truly does live in Silver Hills (and for some reason, Light has a fluttering, apprehensive feeling that he does…even if he does not place much authority on feelings), Light is about to make the most monumental introduction of his life.

 

He imagines the weight of a gold ring on his finger...the promise of fidelity to a man he barely knows. He knows himself and he knows his limits and he knows that one of them is his inability to sell himself. If he and Mr. Lawliet are to be married, it will only come to pass if Light deems Mr. Lawliet worthy. He has no expectations of love, certainly none of lust, but he does expect someone honorable to hold his hand.

 

The country road before them begins to wind and twist. Light can make out tall trees with huge, sprawling branches. They line the edge of the road at either side, and their boughs meet in the middle. The road is covered by them, as if they are its ceiling. Their leaves scatter the sunlight shining above. It falls into a patchwork of yellow on the road.

 

“What are you going to _say_ to him, Light?” calls Matsuda once again, like this is a conversation they are simply continuing. He sounds halfway between a gossiping schoolhouse girl and a newspaper reporter.

 

“I imagine that I’ll begin with hello,” Light says.

 

“Light, you’re such a kidder! I mean after that!” Matsuda giggles.

 

“Well…it’s not as though I have a script written out.”

 

“Yeah, but….you know what I mean! You’re meeting your Suitor! In secret! A clandestine rendezvous with horrific consequences should either of you be discovered! Are you going to declare your undying love and kiss him passionately, and darn the consequences?”

 

“You know that real life isn’t one of Mrs. Hannigan’s romance novels, don’t you?” Light asks. He sometimes wonders what sorts of nonsense float through Matsuda’s mind.

 

“Awww, Light,” Matsuda complains. “You’ve gotta recognize that this is at least a _little_ exciting.”

 

Privately, Light acknowledges that this is true. He is off to meet the person that in all likelihood will be his husband. The man is wealthy, young, educated, and (presumably) cordial in word and deed. His connection to Light will open Light’s opportunities and those of his family from now to the foreseeable future. It really _is_ the stuff of romance novels.

 

Maybe it is the rareness of the feeling that stirs Light to reply in an uncharacteristically revealing way.

 

“Yeah, Matsuda…it is exciting.”

 

* * *

 

The address they come to is staggering. Truly staggering. Light has never seen a place so grand in scale and so perfect in symmetry. Even the colors, lines, angles, and ornaments….everything is breathtaking in its flawlessness.

 

The manor is one immense rectangle. It boasts two stories, one aligning perfectly with the other, and both with floor-to-ceiling windows at regular intervals. There is a coat of fresh grey paint on the exterior, accented with royal blue and white trim. The roof is steep and dramatic in its slope.

 

And the garden....full of foliage in bloom: roses and snapdragons and morning glories of all colors. There are sharply trimmed hedges all around the place, and vines climbing up the manor walls. They are clearly culled so that their numbers do not overrun the place, but those that are selected to remain are the very deepest green. They speak of life and how hard-won it is sometimes.

 

* * *

 

They draw closer to the half-circle drive. The horses at the head of the carriage slow to a gentle clop as they approach, waiting for instructions.

 

“Umm….so…is there some place that I should leave the carriage?” Matsuda asks.

 

Light has very little conception of the proper place one ought to park one’s carriage when one has no invitation to a place and no introduction to its owner. He does his best to answer the question with the limited information he has at hand. He is reasonably confident that a social faux pas like improper carriage parking will not ruin an otherwise firm engagement.

 

“Pull us around to that fountain…it’s as good a place as any,” he says.  The fountain is easily over six feet tall and stands near the manor doors. Crystal clear water flows in tiny streams down its many tiered basins.

 

Matsuda pulls the carriage around and jumps from the coachman’s bench. He offers a pail of water to each of the horses, which drink from it greedily. Light climbs out of the carriage cabin as gracefully as he can. He is tall, but not so tall that getting out without assistance is easy.

 

Almost immediately, the front doors of the manor swing open. A man that Light presumes to be a butler steps through them. He is aging and thin, with hair that is completely grayed over. He wears a tailored suit and shoes that shine.

 

“May I help you, gentlemen?” the butler asks.

 

Light can feel Matsuda tense beside him, totally betraying their lack of an invitation to this place. He hopes the butler will not notice.

 

“Thank you, sir,” he answers politely. “This is Matsuda Touta and I am Light Yagami…I was hoping to speak with Mr. L Lawliet.”

 

“I see. Do you have an appointment with him?” asks the butler.

 

Matsuda laughs nervously. He glances at Light uncertainly, and Light wants to sigh. There are few people in the world more transparent than Matsuda.

 

At least now, though, Light is certain that Mr. Lawliet _does_ live here. Even if Light isn’t allowed to speak to him today, the journey here was worth it just for that valuable piece of information.

 

“Not as such…I’m afraid he isn’t expecting me. I realize that he may be terribly busy at the moment but I would appreciate the chance to meet with him. Even just a few minutes of his time. You see…we’re associates. I can promise you that I’m not a stranger to him.” Light says all this with an apologetic smile. He knows how to appear both competent and humble.

 

Matsuda unfortunately chooses that moment to burst into more nervous laughter. The butler glances at him but doesn’t comment.

 

“Very well…I will see if he is available at the moment. Please wait here.”

 

With that, the butler turns and goes back into the manor. The enormous double doors shut quietly behind him.

 

“Well!” Matsuda exclaims. “That was a close call!”

 

Light resists the urge to rub his forehead and sigh. “We’ll be fine…if he’s too busy, then I’ll just have to come back another time. And if he’s available…” terror quakes momentarily through Light’s heart at the thought, anticipation chasing quickly on its heels, “then I’ll talk to him.”

 

“What am I supposed to be doing when you talk to him?” Matsuda asks. One of the horses whinnies.

 

“Just….stay here with the horses. I won’t be long.”

 

“But I can’t let you just talk to him privately! The rules! Someone has to supervise…maybe I can just watch from afar and –“

 

“Ahem,” a soft, deep voice sounds from behind them. “I believe my presence was requested?”

 

Light turns around to see a tall, dark-haired young man on the front steps of the manor. Light would hazard a guess at 24…25?...years old. His features are striking and aristocratic: a sloping, narrow nose and delicate lips. Sharp cheekbones. Eyes that would stand out in any crowd. His irises are as a dark as his hair…a coal-black color that seems to pull in Light’s gaze like a magnet and hold it there. One moment of eye contact with him is all that it takes to convince Light that Mr. Lawliet’s intelligence is genuine and vast.

 

He wears no suit jacket or fancy military badge. (Light had suspected at one point that his suitor was some sort of army Captain or Colonel but this looks not to be the case. He is not disappointed.) He stands before them in white shirtsleeves and a charcoal waistcoat. Black breeches. There are silver fastenings on the waistcoat....silk stockings on his legs, which seem to go on for miles. Plain black shoes whose simplicity belies their quality.

 

Light’s heart slams against his ribcage and thrums there violently. His fingers shake. He was not counting on this. Not even a little bit. He tells himself it is nothing, of no consequence. Mr. Lawliet’s appearance is neither here nor there. In one way, Light believes this easily and completely. Appearances are just a person’s wrapping paper, irrelevant to their inner character. In another way, though, he is uncertain. And no feeling is more disruptive to Light’s calm than uncertainty.

 

Attractiveness could be distracting, if he isn’t careful.

 

He will be careful.

 

Light schools his features. He gives a gentle upward curve to his lips. A barely perceptible narrowing to his eyes. Aware that his clothes are not fine, or quality, he calls attention to his form anyway, by standing open and relaxed.

 

“Mr. Lawliet…I received your letter,” he says.

 

Mr. Lawliet’s butler is nowhere to be seen. There is only the Master of the house on the front steps, which is highly unusual. The man himself smiles openly, as if nothing could have pleased him more than to find his Match arriving unannounced and uninvited at his hidden manor home.

 

“So it would seem, Light.”

 

To address Light without any title, not even a meager one, is to redefine the idea impropriety. Light scarcely knows what to make of it. How could someone as well-educated as Mr. Lawliet display such an appalling lack of couth?

 

 _It’s a test_.

 

The thought rolls into his mind like thunder, quietly at first, then louder and louder, until it is undeniable. Light knows he is correct, even though he doesn’t know how he knows.

 

_He wants to know how I’ll react._

 

Deciding to meet the test with one of his own, Light replies, “You’re taller than I expected.”

 

Mr. Lawliet’s smile turns quiet and impish. “Am I? I hope that doesn’t disappoint.”

 

 _That’s the opening I need_ , Light thinks.

 

But then Matsuda coughs loudly, throwing a pointed look in Light’s direction.

 

“Mr. Lawliet, this is my friend, Matsuda. He did me the favor of driving me here.”

 

“How do you do?” asks Matsuda politely. He gives a slight bow in Mr. Lawliet’s direction.

 

Mr. Lawliet replies in kind. Stiffly, but respectfully, he returns the bow.

 

Matsuda’s eyes nearly bulge right outside his skull.

 

Inwardly, Light experiences the same surprise. He doesn’t let it show, but inside his mind reels. A Gentryman who would bow to someone lowborn? Who _was_ this man?

 

Matsuda sputters incoherently for a few seconds, clearly at a loss for words. Light takes the opportunity as the gift that it is and says, “Mr. Lawliet, I’m sure you have a terrifically full schedule, but I – “

 

“Not at all, Light.” Mr. Lawliet interrupts. He strides down the manor steps, approaching Light, until he is standing directly in front of him. “In fact, I confess I’ve had my entire day cleared.”

 

Light’s brain tilts a bit on its axis. Never has one person managed to surprise him so much in so short a time. He does his best to recover from the shock smoothly and imperceptibly.

 

“Well, then…I’m flattered,” he says, smiling.

 

“The flattery is all mine,” counters Mr. Lawliet. “After all, it is not every Suitor whose Match will arrange for private transport, unbeknownst to his guardians, to travel significant distances in order to meet with him personally.”

 

“Woooooowwwwww,” Matsuda breathes out. “How did you know all that??”

 

“…intuition,” is all that Mr. Lawliet will explain. He doesn’t take his eyes from Light’s as he speaks.

 

Matsuda openly boggles.

 

“So, Light,” continues Mr. Lawliet. “What can I do for you on this fine day?”

 

Light clears his throat before saying, “I was hoping that I might speak with you privately, sir.”

 

“But, Light! The rules!” Matsuda protests.

 

“I must concur,” says Mr. Lawliet solemnly. “We wouldn’t want our friend here, or my esteemed butler, to get the wrong idea about our activities alone together, would we?”

 

“But Mr. Lawliet,” Light says quietly, boldly grazing his fingers across the cuff of his Suitor’s white shirtsleeve. “Surely they can see as well as I can what a respectable gentleman you are. There could be no question of impropriety between us.”

 

Mr. Lawliet chuckles and glances down at Light’s fingers. “Even the best of us can be tempted.”

 

Matsuda turns a frankly alarming shade of red.

 

“It really is for the best that we remain under a third party’s watchful gaze,” continues Mr. Lawliet.

 

Light blinks. Even if he is unorthodox in the extreme, this man seems to have a firm commitment to honesty…to morality. How many people have Light encountered who jump at the chance to bend rules for personal gain? How many people wouldn’t hesitate to accept an offer of private time from him? How many people on this good earth think first with what’s between their legs and only second with their brains?

 

“You….have my respect, sir,” he says.

 

Mr. Lawliet stares at him silently for a few beats. Then, “perhaps if Matsuda is willing, you and I might walk about the gardens. Within his line of sight, of course. We may talk together and he may be assured that nothing untoward is transpiring.”

 

Light can scarcely believe that he must _force_ himself not to smile.

 

“Would you do that for us, Matsuda?” he asks, and proudly manages to keep a straight face.

 

“O-Of course, Light. You can count on me!”

 

Nervous laughter follows Matsuda’s declaration. Mr. Lawliet tilts his head in the direction of some staggeringly large roses bushes and starts off for them, a gesture meant to beckon Light to follow him. Light does so, reflecting on how alarmingly appealing the movement was.

 

_It doesn’t matter what he looks like. It doesn’t matter what he looks like._

 

They reach the roses, which are just as magnificent up close as they are far away. Mr. Lawliet reaches out to touch one, just by the tip of his index finger, and Light sees how smooth and pale his hands are. They are long-fingered but appear strong.

 

“You’ve come at a most convenient time…they are in bloom,” says Mr. Lawliet. He pulls his finger from the flower and turns back to Light. “But, somehow, I doubt the foliage is your main concern.”

 

“Mr. Lawliet…” Light begins, drawing closer. “You are obviously an intelligent man, and no doubt aware of my family’s financial situation.”

 

“Insofar as your father made me aware,” Mr. Lawliet says, “he is an exceedingly honest man.”

 

“He is,” agrees Light. “And I’m sure he made it very clear to you that I’m not worth half as much as your manor or your gardens or your –“

 

Mr. Lawliet draws closer still, and interrupts. “Light….you are likewise an obviously intelligent man. Do you not know that a person’s worth is not is measured in gold and silver?”

 

Light can think of no answer to this that is not painfully honest, and, strangely, the thought of speaking the words fills him with a paralyzing emotion.

 

“Ah,” Mr. Lawliet murmurs. “It is not that you do not know…it is that you wanted to know if _I_ knew.”

 

Light is filled with an angry embarrassment. He _hates_ to be transparent.

 

“I can assure you, Light, that I know at least a fraction of your worth, and that fraction is more than my manor and gardens combined.”

 

“How could you possibly say that?” Light asks, laughing bitterly and looking away. He isn’t some female: he doesn’t need flattery and fine words to win his devotion.

 

“I have seen you before, you see, unbeknownst to you at the time. I hope that doesn’t make you too uncomfortable. I shall have to tell you the story sometime. Anyway, what I saw of you betrayed your kindness, and selflessness. And that is how I can say that.”

 

Light hears the truth of his words. He catches Mr. Lawliet’s eyes and holds his gaze.

 

“Perhaps you might tell me the story privately one evening?” his voice drops ever-so-slightly with the words.

 

“It is out of the question, I’m afraid. As you well know, we aren’t permitted to fraternize in private.”

 

“We are engaged to be married, sir. Surely you don’t actually believe in all that “third party supervision” business? A few visits with you…it’s all I ask.”

 

“You tempt me, Light...” Mr. Lawliet says, thoughtfully. Light smiles. “But more than that, you test me. You want to know if I’m a degenerate.”

 

Light’s smile fades. “Can I be blamed? You know something of me and I know nothing of you.”

 

“No…I cannot blame you. It is exactly what I would have done, had our positions been reversed.”

 

“And,” Light admits, “had our positions been reversed, I would have declined. Just as you did.”

 

Mr. Lawliet nods.

 

They stand together in companionable silence. The roses are lush, and full. Admiring them with Mr. Lawliet, Light feels a sudden kinship with them. Valued by many for their beauty, they are in constant danger of being plucked from the vine, their life blood taken from them. They are made to sit someplace, confined for others’ enjoyment, slowly dying and wasting away, until their beauty has faded, and they are thrown out.

 

Their only protection from that fate is their thorns. Sharpened to a razor’s edge but just as fragile, in the end, as their red petals.

 

But _some_ roses, beautiful as they may be, are allowed to remain where they grew. Lucky enough to grow under the watchful eye of a kind master, they live and die in keeping with their natures, next to others of their kind. And is there not more enjoyment in that course?

 

“Am I correct in supposing that if I had _not_ declined, you would have reported my outrageous lechery to your parents, and done everything in your power to end the engagement?” Mr. Lawliet asks suddenly.

 

Knowing that there would be no point in denying it, Light nods.

 

“May I ask _why_ you felt the need to test me? Do I seem somehow substandard?”

 

Light feels that his hand is being forced. He owes Mr. Lawliet some candidness, if only because they will be married soon. But he owes it also because of the decency the man has shown.

 

“No. No, you don’t. But still, I…” Light trails off, unsure of whether to push further. Making a decision quickly, he says, “This is not…something I would generally reveal to anyone.”

 

Mr. Lawliet nods, but remains silent, listening.

 

“It is difficult to find the words. You see, I…well. I don’t consider myself a romantic,” continues Light, waiting for the inevitable laughter or snide remark. But none is forthcoming. Mr. Lawliet remains quiet. “But I…have always had a searing dislike of the tradition of our people…Matching one stranger to another. Or treating marriage based on love as though it is a distasteful affair for the lowborn. Isn’t marriage based on love the _ideal_?”

 

“I would quite concur, yes,” agrees Mr. Lawliet.

 

Light blinks. Then he nods, and continues. “And isn’t it absurd to expect someone to give their entire faith, form, and fidelity to a perfect stranger anyway? It felt absurd to me. And so…I had to see you before the wedding…before the Match Celebration, even. You see, sir, I am not the kind that could give you my devotion blindly. And I am not the kind to marry and accept that either of us could have been untrue when we promised our whole selves to each other. And if I expected your full faith, form, and fidelity to me, I could not in good conscience refuse you mine in return. The only way I can give it is to give it honestly, and to give it honestly, I need to know you.”

 

 _It is now Mr. Lawliet’s turn to be surprised_ , Light thinks to himself, as he watches the man blink rapidly for several seconds. Finally Mr. Lawliet says, “You are a rare man, Light Yagami.”

 

“I am beginning to find that you are as well, and that is a good start,” Light replies.

 

Mr. Lawliet nods again. “Well…being that we are both too honorable for private liasons…but agreeing that we are at an imbalance in our knowledge of each other…perhaps there is a third way.”

 

“A third way?”

 

“To put your mind at ease, and balance the scales between us.”

 

“And what would that be, sir?”

 

“Courting.”

 

“ _Courting?”_

“Precisely that.”

 

“As if we were _both_ lowborn? You can’t be serious. Your reputation alone would –“

 

“My reputation is solid enough to stand on its own two feet, I believe, if I do say so myself,” argues Mr. Lawliet. “And if the town doesn’t like it, what does it matter? My gold will remain with me, and my work, and you. If you’ll still have me.”

 

The idea uncoils, slow and tantalizing, in Light’s mind. Could it really be? Courting…that would mean he would have at least _some_ measure of control in his life. He could know the man he would marry before he married him, and wasn’t it a shame that he had to be so grateful for that?

 

“I…” Light’s voices trails off, unsure of how to finish.

 

“You like the idea, it’s written all over your face. Don’t worry – only I would be able to tell that. But regardless…it’s a possibility for us. A good idea – for you as well as for me. I agree with your positions on marriage and I find your mind an intriguing one. And though I have a bit more knowledge of you than you have of me, I could stand to have a great deal more. So, Light…say yes.”

 

Light watches the coal-black of Mr. Lawliet’s eyes shine. He finds himself doing just that.

 

* * *

 

Together, they make their way back to Matsuda. He is standing with the horses, and when they approach, he turns abruptly and pretends to have been brushing out their manes. Light can tell that Mr. Lawliet, like himself, is not fooled.

 

“We thank you for your supervision, Master Matsuda,” Mr. Lawliet says. He throws a sideways glance at Light, lips curling into a slight grin.

 

“Oh! You’re-you’re welcome, Mr. Lawliet!” stammers Matsuda. “You know…the rules and all…I had to keep a close eye! But not too close, of course, I mean, it’s not like I heard everything you guys said - or anything really! -  but of course I couldn’t help –“

 

“We have to get back, Matsuda.” Light interrupts, saving Matsuda from himself. Matsuda turns red and remains blessedly silent.

 

Light turns to Mr. Lawliet. “It’s been a pleasure….thank you for taking time out of your busy schedule to meet with me.”

 

“The pleasure was all mine, Light.” Mr. Lawliet replies. One of his waistcoat buttons glitters in the sun. “We’ll meet again soon.”

 

Light nods, placing one foot atop the carriage step. It requires a good deal of coordination to balance all of one’s weight on the tiny step whilst producing enough force to lever oneself into the high cabin. And Light would be mortified to be seen stumbling.

 

“Here,” sounds Mr. Lawliet’s voice from somewhere on Light’s left. He extends his right hand.

 

Their eyes meet.

 

Trying to hide his hesitation, and certainly failing, Light extends his left hand in return. Mr. Lawliet’s fingers close around it, just as smooth and strong as Light had supposed. He steadies Light even as Light’s eyes are fixed upon his, and before Light knows it, he is in the carriage without a hitch.

 

Matsuda coughs, climbs into the driver’s seat, and the spell is broken.

 

“Until we meet again,” says Mr. Lawliet.

 

“Until then,” agrees Light. The carriage window frames Mr. Lawliet’s face as if it is the only thing outside to see.

 

And then the horses' hooves sound, and they’re off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> EDIT: I edited this chapter because of a lingering feeling that it was incomplete. I no longer have that feeling...hopefully the small revisions/additions truly add something to the story. :)
> 
> Once again, thank you all for the kind reviews, comments, kudos, and follows! They each mean so much!
> 
> BC3, thank you once more for all the encouragement and plot help! Muah!
> 
> Sorry that this has taken so long for me to finish. An ankle injury, a vacation, and a new puppy all conspired together to delay this chapter. But it’s here now – I hope you enjoyed it! Please let me know!
> 
> \- Magic


	4. Chapter Four

**Seeking His Hand**

 

**Chapter Four**

 

“We are _so lucky_ , Light!” Matsuda exclaims as soon as they are out of earshot of the manor. “Do you know how bad that could have gone? Mr. Lawliet didn’t get angry or throw us out or _anything!_ ”

 

“Of course he didn’t….he wouldn’t want to start off a marriage with an argument, would he?”

 

“I don’t think it’s that, Light. I think he likes you. Like, actually. For real.”

 

Light makes a derisive sound in the back of his throat.

 

“Seriously, Light! I mean, you pretty much just threw the entire history of Match tradition onto the fire and burned it, and he didn’t even bat an eye! That’s love. And just think of how cool that would be! He’d be all in love with you and buy you stuff all the time and you guys would live in that awesome manor and he’d be guaranteed to be nice to you and take care of your whole family and _everything_.”

 

“I’m not sure being in love and being mean are mutually exclusive, Matsuda.”

 

“What? Nevermind, just sit back and relax now. The whole thing went well.”

 

Much as Light would enjoy sitting back and relaxing, he doesn’t know how to. And even if he did, now would not be the time. Things _did_ go surprisingly smoothly, it’s true. But this is only the beginning. Courting, though a generous and appreciated offer, opens up its own can of worms. Now Light is obligated to be socially available to a near-complete stranger. And suppose that he and Mr. Lawliet butt heads at every turn? What if the courtship makes Light comfortable with the Match but makes Mr. Lawliet _un_ comfortable with it?

 

Light can just see the scene now. Him explaining to Mother and Father that after a few evenings out, Mr. Lawliet decided that there are plenty of other, less opinionated, eligible Unmatched young men out there, and that he’d rather not take this one on, thank you very much. “I guess I shouldn’t have talked about capital punishment with him, huh?” he imagines himself saying, Father standing there disappointed and Mother sobbing into a handkerchief.

 

Ought he to be himself at all? Maybe it would be far more desirable to Mr. Lawliet if Light were agreeable, _nice_ , and overall pleasant, quiet company.

 

Light sighs. _The integrity we all wish we had is constantly battling the acceptance we can’t help but seek_ , he thinks.

 

And through all of Light’s self-doubt, he cannot help but recall he and Mr. Lawliet’s every word to each other, every look and glance, and how Mr. Lawliet’s features and coloring seem to have been dreamt up by some cruel god bent on creating just the being that would draw Light in. Light tries to remind himself that giving into fanciful notions so early in their courtship would be foolish at best and dangerous at worst. It would be best if he just cleared his mind. But try as he might, the low timbre of Mr. Lawliet’s voice floats up from his subconscious over and over again, quickly followed by the shining black of his hair and the long length of his legs.

 

It would be so much easier if the physical perfection contrasted with a horrific, brutish personality. Instead, the reality of Mr. Lawliet’s character (such as Light yet knows it, anyway) is mirrored, not concealed, in the grace of his appearance. Intelligence and understanding and patience and generosity and a sheer unorthodoxy that Light has so far only dreamt of in his small and conventional world….all that and more Mr. Lawliet has shown him in less than a half hour’s conversation.

 

“You know, Light,” Matsuda says abruptly, throwing the words over his shoulder.

 

“What?”

 

Light can hear the smile in Matsuda’s voice even as he answers. “It wouldn’t kill you to admit that you like him, too.”

 

“Just drive the carriage, Matsuda.”

 

* * *

 

 

Matsuda rounds the carriage into its place on the roadside. Light can hear the horses’ exhaustion in their pants and huffs. Matsuda offers them oats and water while Light climbs out, distantly wishing he had the gentle touch of a certain handsome gentryman to assist him.

 

“Well, we made it!” exclaims Matsuda. “It doesn’t look like many people have even left yet! You can squeeze by for sure!”

 

 _Not if you keep shouting_ _like that,_ Light thinks but doesn’t say. Matsuda’s voice seems to carry no matter what he does.

 

“Thank you, Matsuda,” he says instead. “I mean it…you’ve helped me out a lot. I really appreciate it.”

 

Matsuda scratches at the back of his neck. “Aww, it was no problem, Light.” But he’s beaming proudly at the same time, so Light knows he gets the message.

 

They have reached the fairgrounds later than Light would have hoped, but not so late that he feels all hope of going unnoticed has been lost. It’s true that there are still many people milling about in small groups on the grass. Everyone is smiling and laughing…either genuinely having a good time discussing the weather and other people’s outfits or putting on very good acts.

 

For the life of him, Light cannot understand the appeal of small talk. Yes, it may reduce tense silence between relative strangers, but why not avoid the social interaction that creates the tension in the first place? Even Mother and Father and Sayu are still trapped in conversation with Mistress Sasaki. All of them are too polite to ignore or dismiss her. But look at how convincing their smiles are…how persuasive their laughter. No one would guess at Mistress Sasaki’s ability to bore the very leaves from the trees.

 

Although…is it even really her? Mistress Sasaki _does_ look distinctly taller and oddly broad-shouldered….

 

Light inhales sharply. It _can’t_ be.

 

Terror races from his stomach to his fingertips, from his heart to his toes. How could this be? _How_ could this be? What should he do? Should he approach? Should he stay away? There is nothing in Match tradition regarding _any_ of this! One’s suitor is not to meet with one’s immediate family until the Match Celebration! At the earliest!

 

Matsuda’s laughter sounds to Light’s right. “You okay there, buddy? It looks like you’ve seen a ghost.”

 

“I’m fine. I’m sorry, Matsuda. I have to go.” Light answers quickly. And he takes off at a run.           

 

There is small group after small group that he has to weave in and out of. The church fellowship field is in a small valley, of sorts, between two gently rolling hills. So Light must not only run in a snake-like pattern, but also do so while keeping his balance on uneven terrain. Several times, he can’t help but bump into or brush against one of the churchgoers. He hates the feeling.

 

His family and Mr. Lawliet are grouped under one of the few trees in the vicinity. It is not large; the shade it provides is not substantial enough for four people. L has, seemingly, offered what little shade there is to Light’s family, out of courtesy, perhaps, or at least the appearance of it. Perhaps Mr. Lawliet simply prefers to stand in the sun. As he runs, Light recalls his porcelain skin. Perhaps not, then. An absurd thought enters Light’s head: will Mr. Lawliet’s skin tan after this meeting?

 

Slowing to a jog as he approaches, Light sees Sayu, Mother, and Father’s expressions. Sayu is beaming, bouncing excitedly on her tiptoes. Mother is staring at Mr. Lawliet with a kind of cautious wonderment, a small smile on her lips. And Father is nodding with open approval at something Mr. Lawliet is saying.

 

Mr. Lawliet seems to have no trouble securing the good opinion of relative strangers. Things look well, despite his unexpected appearance, but Light must be prepared for any outcome. No Match regulations have been broken, technically, but Mr. Lawliet’s presence here is definitely irregular.

 

When Light reaches all of them, he stands in the only space available in their small circle: directly to Mr. Lawliet’s right. Mother is the first to speak.

 

“Oh, Light, there you are! Did you try Mr. Lawliet’s pies? They’re exquisite!”

 

Light boggles. This was the last thing he expected to hear when he arrived. Before he has a chance to respond, Sayu cuts in.

 

“Definitely better than Mrs. Nagano’s,” she says authoritatively. “I don’t think she could live with herself after she tried one of his! You’re a really good baker, Mr. Lawliet. ”

 

Mr. Lawliet’s eyes cut to Light’s for a split second. Long enough for Light to see an impish grin in them. “Please, call me L. And thank you for the compliment, but I should be honest with you – none of those pies were baked by me. I’m lucky to have found very good bakers who prepare them for me.”

 

“Of course, Sayu,” says Father, with a slight reprimand in his tone. “Mr. Lawliet and his grandfather are very busy men. Other people cook and clean for them so that their time may be spent on their work.” Then Father turns to Light. “Son, of course you and Mr. Lawliet have my blessing. There is no reason for you not to. In fact, I prefer it.”

 

Light has no idea what his father could be referring to. There would be no reason for Father to repeat his acceptance of Mr. Lawliet’s Suit, so something else must be unfolding. Fearing that the wrong response will lead to a disaster, he clears his throat, hoping to buy himself time to think through the situation. But instead, he is rescued.

 

“I took the liberty of asking your father for his blessing while you were away, Light. Courting someone to whom one is already Matched is a bit unorthodox, certainly, but your father is an infinitely understanding man. He is willing to allow me to visit you on several occasions, provided that the places we go are public, which of course is the only respectable option. I’ve a few places in mind already, to be honest. And he understands that I thought it prudent, as well as considerate, to make you the offer of courting before seeking his approval, since it is the rest of your life in question and since he has already accepted my Offer. It will allow us to get to know each other before we are thrown headlong into sharing a home. In any case, you may now rest assured that your acceptance will not go against your family’s wishes.” Mr. Lawliet says all this with a matter-of-fact air. “So, Light….”

 

Mr. Lawliet, unbelievably, and with all the shame of a harlot in a brothel, bends down on one knee at Light’s feet. His lips break into a full grin and he takes Light’s right hand in both of his. “Will you do me the honor of allowing me to pursue your time, your grace, and your affection?”

 

It is the same question that has been asked by lowborn men of lowborn women throughout history. It is unthinkable, almost sacrilegious, for a man of Mr. Lawliet’s status to speak the words, especially toward someone as lowborn as Light Yagami. Several people in their immediate vicinity have taken note, and are staring at the scene with shocked expressions. It is almost guaranteed that they don’t know Mr. Lawliet personally, but his clothes and his polished accent give away the fact that he is upper-classed. And of course everyone here knows that Light certainly is not.

 

Mr. Lawliet continues, his grin growing impossibly larger. “Or perhaps Light would rather skip all the conversation and travel and simply take me at my money’s worth.”      

 

That was definitely not part of the traditional script. Sayu giggles, Mother laughs quietly behind her hand, and even Father huffs in amusement.

 

Of course Light has no question of what his response must be. It, too, is one that has been passed down for generations. “I will do you that honor, sir.”

 

L’s grin morphs into something softer, warmer, at that. He seals their agreement with a kiss pressed to the back of Light’s hand, and if it is customary to do that part, Light never knew.

 

* * *

 

When all of Sayu’s giggling and generally embarrassing enthusiasm for the proceedings has died down, Mother does what she always does: tries her best to make those around her feel welcome and cared for.

 

Unfortunately, that personality characteristic throws Light from the frying pan into the fire.

 

As the saying goes.

 

“Mr. Lawliet, we would be honored if you would join us for dinner tonight. Provided that you don’t have other pressing engagements, of course. You’re family, after all. Or soon will be,” she says.

 

Light’s eyes immediately snap to Mr. Lawliet’s. Will he accept? Will he _not_ accept?

 

Mr. Lawliet smiles. “Just L will do, thank you. And the honor would be all mine.”

 

“Wonderful,” says Father. “I’m sure you remember the way?”

 

“Detectives cannot forget. It’s in our natures,” Mr. Lawliet replies. He says it in a half-joking tone but Light can easily believe that he means the words. Light can easily believe that Mr. Lawliet might not have forgotten anything in his life. Ever.

 

Suddenly, Light feels Mr. Lawliet’s eyes on him. Then he hears him say, “Might I show Light my carriage? It’s just over there,” - he indicates a nearby section of road – “and we shall be in full view. I simply realize he has never seen it.”

 

“Of course, of course,” says Father. “I have my eye on another piece of Mr. Suzuki’s roast lamb anyway.” And he starts off for the buffet table, Mother and Sayu following.

 

Light can’t believe how _trusting_ Father is of Mr. Lawliet. Usually, Father is suspicious to a fault of anyone Offering for Light. Is the difference simply that Mr. Lawliet is the only Suitor whose Offer Father accepted? Light rejects that idea. Father would only accept the Offer a Suitor he already trusted. So what did Mr. Lawliet do to earn his trust? And so quickly, too?

 

Is it that he is a detective? Father trusts other law enforcement? He generally does, but Light can’t imagine that Father’s reason could be that simple.

 

Mr. Lawliet _seems_ genuine, surely, but Light and his family still barely know the man. It doesn’t do to trust naively. Father needs to be careful, as Light himself does, because letting one’s guard down is the surest way to -

 

“Light?” Mr. Lawliet is asking to his left. “Shall we?”

 

“Oh…yes,” Light answers, realizing that some kind of response is warranted. “I’m sorry, I -”

 

“No need to apologize. I often become lost in thought, myself,” says Mr. Lawliet, without a trace of sarcasm or resentment. They set off in the direction of the carriage, which Light can see in the distance. He can already tell it is expensive. “I approve of thinking as a pastime more than the average man does…I think.”

 

Light laughs. “Do you?”

 

“Oh yes. In fact, I think a great many things. For example, I think that you are wondering why I’m here, how I knew that you would be returning to this place after our meeting earlier, how I knew that your family would be there as well, and what motivation I could have had for approaching them without your knowledge or consent.”

 

The idea that Light would need to give consent for anything that a Gentryman like Mr. Lawliet might want to do strikes him as surprising. Then Light remembers the process of Courting. Consent is a hallmark of the practice, quite unlike simply being Offered for and then Matched.

 

“You could say that,” Light says, with deliberate mildness. “I’m sure you have a well-thought out, compelling explanation for each of those, though.”

 

“Naturally,” agrees Mr. Lawliet. “Firstly, I am here because it gives you an alibi as to where you’ve been for so long. Your family is under the impression that you and I were talking, under Master Matsuda’s watchful gaze and in direct sight of many of the Fairground attendees. Which, by happy chance, is mostly true. They are also under the impression that I came here to speak to you because I wanted your thoughts on the idea of Courting before asking permission from your father - to show consideration to you and the difficulty this Offer has placed on you. Secondly, I knew that you would be returning here both because of what day of the week it is and because of how you are dressed. It is Sunday, traditionally the day of worship, and you are wearing dress clothes – atypical of a working young man, so you are not working today. It was only a small logical leap from that information to the information that your family would be here as well. If you are religious, you were brought up that way. And you don’t strike me as the type to attend Church alone – not to impugn your faith, if you have any. So I knew your family would be here. As for my motivation for approaching them, I wanted to avoid the possibility of them catching us speaking on their own, which surely would have aroused suspicion, even if we _weren’t_ flouting protocol. Which we were.”

 

“That is all very good and impressive, Mr. Lawliet, except for one thing.”

 

“Oh? And what thing is that?”

 

“Your Offer hasn’t placed any difficulty on me.”

 

“No?”

 

“No. If anything, it has saved me, and my family. You must know that.”

 

“I’m aware of the financial burdens currently on your father’s shoulders and what our marriage will mean for those burdens, in terms of them being lifted, yes. But finance is not the only sphere I was referring to when I used the word ‘difficult.’”

 

They reach the carriage, and it is indeed magnificent. Neither Light nor L pay it much attention.

 

“What sphere were you referring to, then?” asks Light. Some sort of potent mixture is brewing in his stomach: fear and anticipation.

 

“Love. It’s as you said: you don’t believe that marrying for love is some distasteful affair for the lowborn. You believe in it. You’re a romantic, Light, even if you don’t realize that yourself. But someday you will. And what will you have then? Me. A man you didn’t choose. A man who only chose you.”

 

Light searches out the meaning in Mr. Lawliet’s words. He watches his eyes, dark and intense and huge, meeting Light’s gaze head-on. The fear and the anticipation battle each other for dominance until they reach a sort of stalemate, and at that point, Light decides to simply take the plunge. He will at least have the thrill of having done so, if nothing else. And it shouldn’t jeopardize the marriage…he thinks.

 

“Whatever the direction of choice is between us, I’m not as victimized as you seem to think. If you had been a wretch, or a fiend, or undesirable in any way, I would have made it my mission to separate us, Match or no Match. And once I put my mind to something, I achieve it, no matter how big or small. So I _could_ have separated us. And I did not decide to pursue that course, sir - because what I know of you, I do choose.”

 

Mr. Lawliet doesn’t answer, only watches Light carefully, listening. Light notes, however, that his breathing has become shallower.

 

“So you see, the choice actually goes both ways.” Light concludes. “And besides, we are not only Matched but also Courting, now. And if I am the romantic you believe me to be, what more could I want?”

 

Mr. Lawliet smiles, then, and drops his gaze, until he is round-shouldered just ever so much. “I see. Thank you, Light.”

 

There is a pregnant but not uncomfortable silence. Finally, Mr. Lawliet speaks again.

 

“The invitation to dinner, though, I did not foresee. Your mother surprised me.”

 

Mr. Lawliet watches Light speculatively. “You know, Light….if my staying for dinner is too much for you right now, I do understand. Rest assured that if it is, I shall hold no ill will toward you. I know that it is taxing for you to be pushed into so much interaction with a relative stranger, not to mention for someone who has as kind a nature as yours. You would never say, for fear of hurting the stranger’s feelings, or those of your parents, but it leeches your energy for you to be so social so often. I can make excuses for my absence; I’m quite skilled at it, really. Also, I already have an ironclad guarantee that you will not give me the slip.” Mr. Lawliet tilts his head in Light’s direction teasingly.

 

“How do you know that I’m kind? Or that I’m introverted, for that matter?”

 

“It isn’t that you aren’t good at hiding yourself, Light.” Mr. Lawliet says, almost apologetically. “It is simply that I see you.”

 

At first, Light doesn’t see how this is any kind of answer at all. After a beat, though, something in him - not his mind, but something more instinctual, more visceral - says _no….it is the clearest answer there could be._

 

“Your staying for dinner isn’t too much for me,” says Light. He half-heartedly wonders if he ought to be offended at the suggestion of anything being ‘too much’ for him. But mostly, though, he is grateful for the concern. His parents seem to understand that he prefers his time spent alone but have never made any accommodation for this fact. He thinks that maybe Sayu would, if she understood his preferences. For someone to both understand _and_ to accommodate is something new to Light. “But I appreciate your…consideration.”

 

“You’re welcome to it,” answers Mr. Lawliet.

 

“…Your carriage is beautiful,” Light says.

 

“Thank you…I am glad you approve. We shall travel a great many places in it – chaperoned in the beginning, of course.”

 

Light feels himself unable to keep from laughing. “Yes…the all-important guardian of my virtue. Or will they be a guardian of yours?”

 

“Doth mine ears deceive me?” says Mr. Lawliet, with a mock-scandalized expression. “Is this an implication of impropriety I hear?”

 

“Impropriety,” Light scoffs. “That which one person calls improper, another person calls good fun.”

 

“You are a dangerous man, Light Yagami.”

 

* * *

 

 

When they return, Mother is gathering up dishes and Father is stowing them into a huge wooden basket. Sayu is saying goodbye to a girl who looks to be about her age, waving enthusiastically and promising to write a letter to her as soon as she can. The grass is a vibrant green beneath their shoes.

 

Light and Mr. Lawliet approach them from behind, so Mother is very much surprised when she realizes they’ve returned.

 

“Oh, Light! Mr. Lawliet, you’re back! Will you be accompanying us to our house?” asks Mother. “It isn’t very far from here. Dinner won’t be ready for a good spot but perhaps we can find something to amuse you until it is.”

 

“It would be my pleasure, Mistress Yagami. However, I’m afraid that with my carriage here, I cannot take the risk of leaving it. My grandfather is waiting, besides.”

 

“Oh! I had no idea he was in there!” Mother exclaims.

 

 _Neither did I_ , thinks Light irritably. _You could have mentioned we were being overheard._ Was it really that easy to hide a fully grown man inside of a carriage?

 

“I expect that he’s taken refuge inside the church, truth be told. He wasn’t there a moment ago,” explains Mr. Lawliet.

 

_…Oh._

 

“Of course your grandfather is invited to dinner, as well,” says Father. “Any relative of yours is a relative of ours, after all.”

 

Mr. Lawliet nods cordially. “I shall pass along the invitation.”

 

“Very good,” Father says with a smile.

 

“Should we expect you along soon, then?” asks Mother, placing the last of the dishes into the basket.

 

“Yes, thank you…I shouldn’t be long in finding him.” Mr. Lawliet turns to Light. He speaks his next words without breaking eye contact with him. “I shall see you all shortly.” Then he takes Light’s right hand in his and kisses the back of it.

 

Light can’t imagine being more embarrassed than he is at that moment. He can feel his ears glowing red and hates knowing that other people can _see_ his emotions as they happen.

 

“We look forward to it,” Light hears himself saying, nearly unable to recognize his own voice.

 

Mr. Lawliet smiles and then starts off in the direction of the church.   

 

“Well then,” Father says briskly. “Ready to go?”

 

Light nods, following Mother and Father and Sayu to the family carriage. Climbing in, he can’t help but be eager for the evening…but also to dread it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you very much for all the reviews, comments, kudos, favorites, and follows! Each and every one encourages me. :)
> 
> Sorry for the wait! Real life has been busy and for a while L and Light simply weren’t “talking” to me but they certainly are now! 
> 
> As always, BC3, thank you for your wonderful ideas and encouragement!
> 
> Hope you enjoyed this…let me know what you thought!
> 
> \- Magic


	5. Chapter Five

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If any of you like to read fic with a soundtrack sometimes – I know that I do – this chapter was written almost entirely by the sounds of Tchaikovsky. Mostly the Pas de Deux, but also the 1812 Overture, The Waltz of the Flowers, and, of course, Dance of the Swans (which feels VERY Lawlight to me…actually, all of them do). If you are seeking some musical accompaniment, I suggest those!

Father drives the carriage. The road from the church to their home is not a long one, but it does twist and turn as it leads through the market, the courthouses, and various other family homes. On rainy days, it turns almost completely to mud (which is why rainy days are the only days Light is allowed to miss church).

 

Mother and Sayu sit on one of the wooden benches inside the carriage cabin, their skirts arranged neatly around their legs. Light takes the remaining bench. Mother and Sayu talk of what sort of dinner should be served, and speculate pointlessly about the nature of Mr. Lawliet’s grandfather. There is no reason to indulge in conjecture about what the man is like when he will be in their home in just a short time.

 

Light stares out the carriage window, trying to ignore the way everything rocks and bounces uncomfortably. One wheel squeaks and another is not truly symmetrical. It jostles them all constantly.

 

“Mr. Lawliet certainly is very cordial,” Mother remarks, shifting the subject. “A perfect gentleman, didn’t you think, Light?”

 

Light meets her eyes with what he hopes is a pleasantly neutral expression. “Very cordial, yes, Mom.”

 

“And he’s handsome!” says Sayu excitedly.

 

Light sighs.

 

“You know, I think so too.” Mother agrees thoughtfully. “Different-looking, to be sure, but quite easy on the eyes in his own particular way.”

 

“His skin is so _smooth_ ,” Sayu goes on. “And so…what’s the word?”

 

 _Porcelain,_ Light’s mind supplies unhelpfully.

 

“And his eyes are just…so _dark_ and _intense_ ,” continues Sayu. “You can tell he’s _really_ smart.”

 

Light’s jaw clenches.

 

The side of the carriage that separates Mother and Sayu’s bench from Father’s driver’s seat contains a large open window, through which Light is sure that Father hears every word of their conversation.

 

“Light, you won the jackpot with him,” Sayu says mischievously.

 

“Now, now, Sayu,” Mother admonishes mildly, misinterpreting Sayu’s tone. “Your own Match will be just as successful as Light’s has been. There is no need for envy.”

 

Sayu only grins at Light pointedly, confident that Light understands what she meant by the remark, even if Mother does not. Light refuses to engage in her harassment. He turns to look outside the window again.

 

“But Light,” says Mother. “Isn’t it lovely about the Courting? I know you’ve never been partial to Matching…now you don’t need to worry about the whole thing and can just enjoy the Courtship. Oh, your father and I had a wonderful time in our Courting days, didn’t we, dear?” she aims her last words over her shoulder, toward Father.

 

“We did indeed,” Father answers, the reminiscing evident in his voice.

 

A bout of extreme discomfort slithers through Light’s stomach. He feels as though he is being made to witness something intimate between his parents. Though he is glad of their regard for one another, he dislikes having that regard made manifest in front of him.

 

Mother is watching him expectantly, and Light realizes that she had asked him a question.

 

“It was a generous offer on Mr. Lawliet’s part,” he says.

 

“He seems the perfect Match for you,” says Mother warmly. She reaches across the carriage to pat his knee.

 

Light takes several deep breaths as subtly as he can. He wills his heartbeat to slow.

 

Half of him is eager to see Mr. Lawliet again, even so soon after they have last parted company, but part of him wishes he could simply cancel this entire dinner. Mr. Lawliet will be seeing their home, which means seeing every personal memento of Light’s childhood, every tiny facet of his life there (Light is sure that Mr. Lawliet would miss nothing). Mr. Lawliet will see his bed, too worn from years upon years of use. What sort of deductions will a detective of his caliber make from these details? What sort of conclusions will he reach? And Light will not have much time to make things very presentable.

 

Perhaps it is all for naught, anyway. Light knows that Mr. Lawliet would have had to come to their home to make his Suit official. He’s already seen some of the place. If that’s the case, he will have had several judgments in mind before he ever arrives this evening.

 

_It’s better if I just…clear my mind._

 

The task is harder than ever.

 

* * *

When they arrive home, Sayu immediately runs off, shouting some sort of vague excuse over her shoulder. It is nothing unusual for Light to remain with Mother and Father, helping to unload the dishes from the carriage. He does not resent the work, or even Sayu’s shirking of it. She is young yet. Every day, Light feels as though the difference in their ages widens. It has only gotten worse since he has been Matched.

 

Though truthfully, Light has never felt precisely his age.

 

“Light, will you help Mother with the washing?” Father asks. “I need to begin work on the hen.”

 

“Yeah…sure, Dad.” Light replies. They had decided on roast hen for dinner. Economical, but still presentable enough for company.

 

He follows Mother into the house, through the front door and small sitting room, dishes piled high in his arms. He relies on his memory more than his sight to navigate. The kitchen lies just behind, cramped but cozy. It holds his bed, their small dining table, a cooking hearth, a brick oven, and a high counter on which to prepare food. He sets down the dishes there, exchanging them for an enormous basin. Light must draw water outside and fill it to do the washing.

 

Mother is busy filling their hearth with kindling to light the cooking fire. She works briskly, sometimes humming, sometimes murmuring to herself about what needs to be done and when to do it.

 

Wrist-deep in soapy water and scrubbing platters, Light tries to imagine how the evening will transpire and plan for every eventuality he can think of. How long will they be staying? Surely Mr. Lawliet will want to be back home not long after nightfall….or do detectives care much about keep regular hours? Surely some crimes necessitate them being ready for action at a moment’s notice? Well…if he and his grandfather do end up staying late into the night, Light will be ready. He doesn’t generally function well with little sleep, but he feels that, this night at least, his nerves will keep him alert enough. Will Mr. Lawliet remark on the food? Will he _not_? Suppose he is a vegetarian? Light has read of certain far-off societies viewing the consumption of animals to be sacrilegious. What if Mr. Lawliet subscribes to such philosophies?

 

“Light, do mind yourself!” Mother warns suddenly. “More water is on the floor than in the basin.”

 

Light realizes that he hasn’t been attentive at all to the washing, and that Mother is right. He sighs. At this rate, Mr. Lawliet and his grandfather will arrive to find Light in rolled-up shirtsleeves and soaked socks.

 

He dries the floor and finishes the dishes with none of his usual efficiency. His clothes do not suffer, but Light still feels the need to straighten them, to wash his face with lavender soap, to comb out his hair again.

 

After that, it is a waiting game: himself against every minute that goes by without a knock on the house’s front door. He occupies himself with tidying things that don’t really need tidying (except that they do, somehow) and putting away various knickknacks and things into drawers.

 

Much too soon and much too late, there is a gentle rap on the door. Light jumps in alarm before he regains control of himself. Mother and Father are both busy tending to dinner and Sayu is in her room, presumably, so it falls to Light to answer.

 

When he opens the door, he is dumbfounded.

 

“Ah, Light.” Mr. Lawliet says with a grin. “We meet again. Allow me to introduce my grandfather, Quillsh Wammy.”

 

_The butler…was not a butler._

 

Mr. Quillsh Wammy is the very man whom Light assumed to be a butler in Mr. Lawliet’s manor. Up close, he can see now that the man has a kind face, spectacles, and a heavy, gray mustache.

 

“An honor to make your acquaintance, Light,” he says. He bows politely.

 

Light bows in return, casting his eyes to the ground in deference to Mr. Wammy’s age. “The honor is all mine.”

 

No doubt hearing their voices, Mother hurries over, wiping her hands on a dishtowel, Father close on her heels.

 

“Master Yagami, Mistress Yagami, may I introduce Quillsh Wammy, my grandfather?”

 

“Honored to meet you,” Mother and Father murmur together, bowing, urging Mr. Lawliet and Mr. Wammy to please come in. Light steps aside with them so that the two may enter. Mother beckons them into the sitting room.

 

“Mr. Wammy, is it?” she asks. “Not Mr. Lawliet Senior?”

 

“No, no…the truth is, I am L’s mother’s father.” Mr. Wammy explains.

 

“I’ve been told that the differences in our appearance have everything to do with this as well,” volunteers Mr. Lawliet. “I reportedly resemble my father to an astonishing degree.”

 

“You do, L,” says Mr. Wammy. “It is an indisputable fact. Sometimes I swear I am looking at his face when I look at yours.”

 

From the way in which these words are spoken, Light can only suppose that Mr. Lawliet’s parents have passed on. He cannot imagine what it would be like to lose Mother and Father at Mr. Lawliet’s age. Perhaps even sooner than that. A deep sympathy for Mr. Lawliet’s loss settles itself into Light’s chest.

 

If Mother or Father come to the same conclusion, they do not comment on it. Various bits of small talk float up around them (the weather, the dinner plans, and so on).

 

Light is engaged to be married to a brilliant, handsome, well-mannered young man who happens to be quite wealthy and who was tragically orphaned at some point in his life. Who makes his living stopping criminal activity.

 

Could there be a more potent mix of attractive qualities for someone like Light?

 

Light suddenly feels the need for a few minutes alone. Mr. Lawliet was right, back at the church fairgrounds. This is quite a lot of social interaction for one day.

 

But no….on second thought, Light realizes it is not his characteristic need for time alone that drives him to seek seclusion. Actually, he feels his need for solitude is lessened by Mr. Lawliet’s company (a fact too alarming to contemplate deeply just yet). No….Light is overwhelmed, that is all. He needs to get away.

 

“I’m going to go and gather the potatoes, Dad,” he says _sotto voce_ to Father. Father nods to him, and with that, Light leaves through the back door.

 

He ought to be able to afford a few minutes alone without rousing too much suspicion, he thinks. It is an innocuous enough excuse, after all.

 

* * *

 

There is too much swirling around in his mind to make sense of…too many sensations and pounding heartbeats to achieve the stillness he has always craved. Out here, in the cool air and the spring humidity, everything seems somehow easier to process.

 

Digging potatoes out of the ground is neither Light’s favorite activity nor the cleanest work, but Light manages to spare his clothing by being careful. He thinks as he digs, methodically brushing dirt off of each one and stacking them into neat rows in the baskets. He is calmed by putting things into order, and orders what he can. It isn’t long before both baskets are filled.

 

Light rests his hip against a tree trunk, one of only a few in the field. He lets his weight settle against the bark. A hundred sentimental and purposeless thoughts pass through his head – things like the majesty of sunsets and the triumph of growing seedlings….the quiver in his knees when Mr. Lawliet’s lips have brushed his knuckles.

 

At first, out here alone, Light tried to block out his infatuation. But now he comes to the realization that there is nothing to be gained by that. He must confront his reality.

 

How perfect his future might be. That craving for romance ( _for a soulmate_ , his mind whispers provocatively)…Mr. Lawliet seems convinced it exists in Light. If it does, Light has no greater chance of finding it than he has now.

 

_Maybe Father saw this possibility himself…maybe that’s why he trusts Mr. Lawliet so easily._

And no greater possibility for utter, utter misery, either. Light may be naïve to the stirrings of a stolen heart but he does not need to be experienced to know that there is no better way to break a person than to use their feelings against them. Already, after so little knowledge of the man and so little time spent with him, Light feels a pang in his chest at the idea of their engagement falling apart.

 

It’s so _stupid_ and so _dangerous_ to think this way. How can something so tentative and new be so powerful? If it were someone else having these thoughts, Light would scoff at them for their foolishness. As it is, he can only do his best to control himself. He doesn’t even _know_ Mr. Lawliet.

 

When he imagines the possibility that Mr. Lawliet is not what he seems, Light turns away from the idea, seemingly by instinct. The man could be putting on an elaborate act, with his smiles and his words and his charming manners….it has been known to happen: conmen who fly by night. Light would be wise to remember that the world can be a dark, cruel, rotten place.

 

But instead he is terribly, monumentally foolish.

 

Whatever the wisdom of it…Light is in trouble.

 

* * *

 

He hears a rustling of grass behind him and turns his back to the tree trunk, seeking out the source of the sound.

 

It is Mr. Lawliet, alone, walking toward him. Light takes a deep breath. He shoves his hands in his pockets to keep their trembling hidden. His mind takes off like a hawk, immediately beginning to formulate a hundred excuses to use to explain why he has been out here alone, potatoes already picked and neatly placed into their baskets.

 

But it turns out that he doesn’t need them. Mr. Lawliet never asks him what he has been doing. He draws near to Light and looks out at the fields. Even though they are well into evening by now, the sky is still well-lit. Light and Mr. Lawliet look to the West together. There is nothing ahead of them but miles and miles of grass, and beyond that, the horizon. Mr. Lawliet’s features are bathed in orange-red. Light realizes that his hair is longer than he originally supposed: it brushes the ends of Mr. Lawliet’s shoulders.

 

“Light,” he greets. “I wondered where I might find you. Your family’s land is quality.”

 

Light nods. The property isn’t much, certainly not an estate like Mr. Lawliet’s, but it has served them well for generations. It provides nearly all of the food that they eat. They have never been what one could call impoverished. And anytime Light has needed time to himself, the land has welcomed him like an old friend. “Thank you, sir.”

 

Without turning to face him, Mr. Lawliet’s eyes cut to Light’s. “How many years have you worked these fields?” he asks.

 

 _Too many_ , Light thinks but doesn’t say. “Ever since I was twelve. When I left schoolhouse.”

 

“And did it bother you?” Mr. Lawliet asks. He leans a hair closer, as if the answers to his questions can’t come fast enough. Light can easily see that being a detective comes naturally to him. “To end your education?”

 

Light studies the ground, wondering how to phrase his answer. “That’s….complicated.”

 

“Oh? How so?”

 

“Education doesn’t end when one leaves a classroom,” Light says. He looks up to see his suitor’s reaction to this claim, and their eyes meet.

 

Mr. Lawliet’s lips are turned up at the corners. There is something like pleased approval in his expression. Light’s heart pounds.

 

“But…” he continues. “It isn’t as though I’ve enjoyed cutting my formal education short. Except that it saved me from having to interact with my peers.”

 

“The word ‘peers’ being defined very loosely here,” Mr. Lawliet interjects cheekily.

 

Light laughs and then instantly wonders what is on earth is _wrong_ with him.

 

“You’re either trying your best to flatter me as much as you can as quickly as possible or you’re making a very quick assessment of my intelligence,” Light remarks.

 

Mr. Lawliet doesn’t miss a beat. “Or I’m simply implying that you are too attractive to be put into the same category as the average student.”

 

Suddenly their small bubble of private conversation feels much, much more private. It is one of the few times in Light’s life when he truly has no idea what to say.

 

“Perhaps that was a bit forward of me,” Mr. Lawliet murmurs, clearing his throat.

 

“No, it’s…” Light protests, letting his voice trail off. He doesn’t know the word for what it _is_ though, precisely, and finally settles for saying, “It’s alright.” He hopes the pronouncement is adequate. “I just…I don’t….”

 

“It’s quite alright,” Mr. Lawliet reassures him, responding just a bit too quickly.

 

Light tries to pick up the threads of their previous topic. “Well….in any case, I don’t intend on having nothing but a twelve-year-old’s knowledge base for the rest of my life.”

                                              

“How well can you read?” Mr. Lawliet asks. He doesn’t sound patronizing or pitying; there is nothing but honest curiosity in his voice. It is the only reason that Light gives him a clear answer.

 

“Better than most in my position…surely not as well as someone like you,” he says. Light wonders why he is offering so much. It is uncharacteristic of him.

 

“I’ve got several novels in my possession…nothing made for instruction, of course, but if you desired it, I feel certain you could learn from them,” Mr. Lawliet says. “I would be happy to provide.”

 

 _He offers first to let me teach myself, instead of taking it upon himself to be the lord of my instruction,_ Light reflects. He is grateful, and says as much.

 

“It’s settled, then,” says Mr. Lawliet.

 

Light feels a curiosity stir within himself. “Did your grandfather teach you to read?”

 

Mr. Lawliet makes a _hmm_ sort of sound. “More or less. In truth, I don’t know. I can only assume that he did. I don’t remember learning how.”

 

“Were you too young at the time?”

 

“I must have been.”

 

Light wonders how it would feel to be able to look back on his life and never have a point at which a book could not have given him company. Fairly good, he supposes.

 

Mr. Lawliet bends and retrieves one of the baskets, balancing it deftly against his hip.

 

“You really don’t have to –“ protests Light, but Mr. Lawliet interrupts.

 

“I insist. It is the least I can do,” he says. “Now…I do believe your mother is well on her way to preparing quite the feast. Shall we?”

 

Light nods and takes the remaining basket. Together they turn around, setting off in the direction of the house. There is a window which offers a view of the fields they’ve been conversing in….Light wonders how many times his parents have felt the need to glance out of it while he and Mr. Lawliet have been talking, verifying their maintenance of propriety.

 

* * *

 

The house is not far ahead of them. It is old but sturdy, with an exterior of solid oak. Many more candles have been lit tonight than would usually be. Their light shines out of each windowpane with a soft glow as darkness begins to settle around them.

 

Mr. Lawliet walks beside him with perfect cadence. Each footstep falls into a prearranged beat, almost as if Mr. Lawliet is matching them to a piece of music playing inside his head. It isn’t difficult for Light to slide into the rhythm he sets. They are nearly of a height, but Mr. Lawliet is a bit taller than he, so his shoulders are that much closer to the sky; his shadow strikes the ground that much farther away than Light’s. Light watches his shadow walk along next to his and wonders if the impressions they make together are as striking as they seem.

 

When they reach the door, Mr. Lawliet reaches out and takes hold of the handle, keeping a tight grip on the basket of potatoes with his other hand. He holds the door ajar for Light to pass through first. Light has never in his life had anyone hold a door for him. It is a gesture fraught with implication. Light has seen his father hold doors ajar for his mother. He has heard Sayu whisper excitedly about the scandal that swept through her schoolhouse when some boy or other held a door open for another, on a dare. Besides these two events, he has never seen the practice occurring, except in stories. In these, the person holding the door always ends up betrothed to whoever passes through it. An unyielding cliché.

 

Light hesitates at the threshold.

 

“Surely I do not overstep my bounds?” Mr. Lawliet asks, after several beats. “I do not mean any offense.”

 

“You give none,” Light tells him.

 

“Then why do you pause?”

 

 _Why indeed?_ Light thinks to himself. _It isn’t as if this changes anything._ He supposes that when it comes right down to it, this is the first action in their courtship that Light himself is independently enacting. Everything else on his part has been mere words. (Stealing away to Mr. Lawliet’s manor doesn’t count, after all. They weren’t Courting then.) So he hesitates here because of the newness of the experience, not out of any uncertainty as to the action’s merit. He crosses the threshold.

He feels more than hears Mr. Lawliet follow behind. The door _snicks_ closed behind them.

 

There is a small hallway ahead, which leads to their kitchen, where a small dining table (and Light’s bed) sit. His bed is no reason for concern. Mr. Lawliet already knows full well about the Yagami’s financial station. If he is put off by the blatant signs of it, that is his own fault. Light didn’t ask to be Matched to (or courted by) a rich Gentryman from Silver Hills.

 

As they progress down the hallway (which is only barely lit, as neither Mr. Lawliet nor Light have a candelabra), Light hears the voices of his Mother, his Father, and Mr. Lawliet’s grandfather. Their conversation is set against the backdrop of crackling logs on the hearth fire and the smells of roasting hen.

 

“My grandson truly has been alone for far too long,” his grandfather is saying. “Three years is a more than respectable time to remain a widower, especially for a twenty-four-year-old.”

 

A _widower???_ Light’s eyes cut immediately to Mr. Lawliet, whose expression betrays a mixture of surprise, unease, and resignation. It is irritating that he can be so handsome even in such an ugly situation. He doesn’t shy away from meeting Light’s gaze.

 

“Was his late wife from around here?” asks Mother, sounding pleasantly stressed and no doubt stirring a pot of something or other.

 

“No…she was a proper foreigner. From across the sea, actually. L was there on business when they met. Lovely girl, though a bit too caught up in her own ambitions to be suited to married life.”

 

“And they never had any children, you say?”

 

“No no…which was unsurprising, given the circumstances,” says Mr. Wammy.

 

For a split second, Light’s heart very nearly _stops_ , so anxious is he to hear an explanation of what these ‘circumstances’ could have been. He knows that Mother will ask; he’s waiting on a knife’s edge for the inevitable question….!

 

Mr. Lawliet suddenly strides ahead, into the kitchen and into full view of all its occupants. “What a beautiful garden you have, Mistress Yagami,” he announces. He sets the potatoes down on the dining table with ease.

 

It is a blatant attempt to prevent any more information from being revealed, and in that moment, Light _hates_ him. He hates _himself_ , languishing about, full of all of his sentimentality and ignorance – he doesn’t even know Mr. Lawliet, and here is the proof.

 

“Oh, Mr. Lawliet, you are too kind,” smiles Mother. She ushers him into a chair. Mr. Wammy is already seated at one end while Father has taken the head. Mr. Lawliet is placed to the right of his grandfather.

 

“You know,” Mother continues. “I think you’ll find that Light is quite the hard worker. He’s tended the land almost entirely on his own since he was a wee thing. All string bean arms and legs…did you know that at that time he was shorter than Sayu?” Mother laughs as she bustles about. “Girls do mature faster than boys, after all.”

 

Mr. Lawliet aims a smile in Light’s direction, which Light pretends not to see. He finds the nearest thing with which to occupy his hands (a paring knife) and proceeds to peel the freshly picked potatoes. He works at the counter-table, which stands against a far wall. He _feels_ Mr. Lawliet’s eyes on him.

 

“Is that so, Mistress Yagami?” asks Mr. Lawliet politely. “It is hard to imagine Light as anything but what he is now. But I most certainly agree that he is nothing if not industrious.”

 

“A trait he has in common with you, L,” Mr. Wammy says. “I can hardly remember a time when you weren’t intent on uncovering secrets.”

 

“Did you always want to be a detective?” asks Father.

 

Mr. Lawliet murmurs his answer. “Oh yes…of that, I have no doubt.”

 

Father nods approvingly. “We are all of us called into something, aren’t we?”

 

“Quite, dear,” says Mother warmly. Light is sure she kisses his cheek with a careless intimacy as she rushes about the kitchen. “Oh, Light, do be sure not to peel those too roughly! We haven’t extra to spare.”

 

Light’s jaw clenches. “Yes, Mother.” He takes the knife more gently in hand.

 

Then he hears the rushing patter of small feet that can only be Sayu flying down the stairs. She is often incapable of moving slowly in the presence of guests.

 

“Liiiiiiggghhht!” she cries out as soon as she emerges from the hallway. She runs straight to Light’s side and leans over the bowl of potatoes. “It smells so good in here! What are you making? Meat pies?”

 

Mother chuckles. “Light isn’t cooking, Sayu. It is Mr. Lawliet’s first night over. Now do be a good girl and see to setting the table. And say hello to Mr. Wammy, Mr. Lawliet’s grandfather.”

 

Sayu inhales sharply, registering Mr. Wammy’s presence only now. Light can just picture her bowing deeply as she recites the words, “how do you do?” politely.

 

“How do you do, Miss Sayu?” asks Mr. Wammy in return. It is easy to see where Mr. Lawliet inherited much of his charm.

 

Sayu laughs nervously and goes to get utensils.

 

“Light cooks?” Mr. Lawliet asks. Light can’t quite discern the motivation for his question.

 

“He cooks _so_ well!” Sayu enthuses. “Not that Mother doesn’t, of course,” she giggles apologetically. “But Light is _amazing_ at it. Meat pies and hen soup and slot cookies and -”

 

“Cookies?” Mr. Lawliet interrupts, and this time, Light can hear a bit of intrigue in his voice.

 

“Oh dear,” murmurs Mr. Wammy. “You have opened Pandora’s box, child.”

 

“Grandfather,” Mr. Lawliet objects. “I am making a simple inquiry, nothing more.”

 

“You are envisioning a marriage filled with sugar, is what you are doing.”

Mr. Lawliet ignores him. “What, pray tell, is a slot cookie?” he asks.

 

“It’s a really, really thin cookie that Light makes! It’s so thin that you can slide one underneath a door. Light used to sneak me some when I was little, under my bedroom door, so that Mother wouldn’t see-” Sayu explains.

 

“- And I’m still not happy with that little deception, you know -” Mother scolds.

 

“- But honestly it wasn’t that many and anyway he only did it that once. Or twice. They are _so good_. Light made up the recipe himself!” Sayu says all this with an audible smile.

 

“Hmmm, I see,” says Mr. Lawliet thoughtfully. “Perhaps I will be fortunate enough to merit a taste.”

 

The remark is clearly aimed toward Light, and Light wishes he could ignore it, but he can’t bring himself to be consummately rude to his Suitor.

 

“Perhaps,” he agrees, as if the matter is insignificant. He forces himself to turn slightly and meet Mr. Lawliet’s eyes as he speaks. He finds that Mr. Lawliet is staring at him intently. His huge black eyes bore into Light’s. Light feels as though he is being peered at underneath a magnifying glass.

 

Mother takes the peeled potatoes from him, breaking he and Mr. Lawliet’s iron eye contact.

 

“Now that these are peeled, it won’t be long to boil and mash them and then everything will be ready,” she says cheerfully. The hen is in the oven already, nearly done roasting.

 

“Is there anything else you need help with, Mom?” asks Light. He is desperate for any excuse to avoid Mr. Lawliet’s proximity.

 

“Of course not, dear,” she laughs. “Go and sit…you’ve done nothing but work since we got home from church!”

 

Through strength of will alone, Light refrains from sighing. He turns toward the dining table, resigned to his fate, only to find that Mr. Lawliet has stood up from his chair and is pulling out the one next to him. It is an invitation that Light cannot refuse.

 

“Thank you,” he says stiffly as he takes his seat.

 

“My pleasure,” murmurs Mr. Lawliet, sitting himself down again.

 

The formality between them, which should be so expected and appropriate, especially at this stage in their Courtship, feels like a pile of bricks dropped into their midst. Light reminds himself that this is as things _should_ be. He does not _know_ Mr. Lawliet and Mr. Lawliet does not know _him._ Any reserve in their exchanges ought to be a comfort.

 

Polite small talk is made, mostly by Mother, Father, and Mr. Wammy, though Mr. Lawliet does chime in from time to time with a faultless attention to good manners. Light attempts the same. Time seems to crawl by at a sluggish pace.

 

Finally dinner is served. It is customary that those with highest position are attended first - in this case, Mr. Wammy. Those with lowest position (Sayu, technically) are expected to do the attending. Sayu follows protocol dutifully, albeit with more smiling and giggling than the situation really warrants.

 

Light should not be surprised when Mr. Lawliet flouts that same protocol in another astonishing and damnably impressive maneuver. After Sayu has filled his grandfather’s plate, Mr. Lawliet stands and holds out his hand for the serving spoon.

 

Sayu blinks rapidly. Her mouth falls open into a small ‘o’ and she wordlessly passes the spoon to him.

 

“Thank you, Sayu,” says Mr. Lawliet graciously, as though she has done him a great favor.

 

Then, he takes up Light’s plate and begins to spoon mashed potatoes, vegetables, and some of the hen onto it. Mr. Wammy shakes his head back and forth in a kind of fond amusement. Mother and Father pass quizzical looks between themselves.

 

When he is done, he holds out the plate to Light. “Is this satisfactory?” he asks.

 

Light looks from the plate to his face and back again. “Of course, sir.” He takes the plate from Mr. Lawliet’s grasp, and their fingers brush with the barest of touches. Light ignores it, as well as the jolt that the contact brings.

 

Mr. Lawliet proceeds to serve not only Light’s but _everyone else’s_ food. He divides portions equally, leaves no one item touching another, and generally displays a bewildering knowledge of the unspoken rules that servants abide by.

 

 _Well…let him enact his own bizarre standards of behavior_ , Light thinks, determined not to feel anything but a detached sort of surprise.

 

Dinner passes uneventfully. Mr. Wammy and Mr. Lawliet both give their compliments on the taste of the meal. Mother and Father accept them with thanks. As the sounds of cutlery against their plates ring into the air, the candles burn low. Several times, Light feels Mr. Lawliet’s piercing stare, but he diligently disregards it.

 

Instead of lessening Mr. Lawliet’s attempts to gain his attention, however, this seems to make his attempts bolder.

 

“Do you need any salt? Pepper?” he asks, holding out the little shakers in Light’s direction.

 

“No, thank you, sir,” says Light curtly. He keeps his eyes on his food.

 

“More wine?”

 

“I’m fine, sir.”

 

Mr. Lawliet makes a disbelieving _hmmm_ sound at that, but afterwards leaves Light alone. There is no triumph in Light at this, and Light wonders why.

 

Dessert comes in the form of sugared pears, which are passed around the table from left to right, beginning with Mr. Wammy. When Mr. Lawliet takes one, his eyes gleam childishly.

 

“They are from our own trees,” volunteers Light. He immediately berates himself for breaking his self-professed code: _do not speak unless he speaks to you_.

 

“You will find, Light Yagami, that I have a penchant for sweet things.” Mr. Lawliet says, right before he takes a bite. He eats the pear without any fork, and bits of crystalized sugar stick to his fingertips, which he licks away carelessly.

 

 _I should be repulsed_ , Light reflects, without any real venom.

 

After dessert, Mr. Wammy and Mr. Lawliet both rise from the chairs at nearly the same moment. Light suspects that they have already discussed a time to leave and agreed upon it.

 

“Master Yagami, Mistress Yagami,” says Mr. Wammy, bowing to them at the waist. “It has been a pleasure.”

 

“The pleasure was all ours,” Father replies. The common, polite exchanges feel more sincere than Light would have believed they could.

 

“Yes, Mr. Wammy…you simply must see us again.” Mother adds.

 

“Without doubt,” he says. “Without doubt.”

 

“And you, Mr. Lawliet,” Mother continues. She smiles politely. “When shall we expect you again?”

 

It is painfully clear that what she really means is ‘when shall _Light_ expect you again?’

 

Light suddenly feels as though a hundred candelabras are illuminating him at once, burning his skin and putting him on display for all the world to see.

 

Mr. Lawliet addresses his answer to Light instead of Mother. “Might I call upon you this Wednesday?” he asks. To Light’s amazement, his voice is almost shy.  
  
“As you like,” Light murmurs. He does his best to look anywhere but into Mr. Lawliet’s eyes, fearing what his face will betray if he does. Somehow, their eyes meet anyway. Mr. Lawliet radiates some sort of knowing sympathy. Light imagines taking his feelings and guarding them carefully in a box.

 

“I shall be at your doorstep that evening, then,” Mr. Lawliet says, each word heavy like a promise.

 

He holds out his hand, and Light extends his own. Mr. Lawliet’s lips fall to his knuckles. Light had some expectation this time of what would happen, but his stomach still flips over on itself when it does.

 

The entire family sees Mr. Lawliet and Mr. Wammy out, watching in the doorway as their carriage glides away. Mr. Lawliet is in the driver’s seat, commanding the four horses with apparent ease.

 

* * *

 

When Light sleeps that night, he dreams of enormous black eyes and ivory skin.

 

* * *

  

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Courtesy of BC3: I’ll take a potato….and uproot it! 
> 
> Can we all just stop and take a moment to imagine again 1) Light digging potatoes up and 2) L carrying a basket full of them, while dressed in a vaguely Victorian-era clothing?
> 
> There. Lol
> 
> Thank you once again to everyone reading...every review, comment, follow, fave, and kudos makes my day. ☺ Please let me know what you thought of this chapter!
> 
> The next installment is already underway! Hopefully my current rate of productivity continues and it will be posted soon. 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading. 
> 
> \- Magic


	6. Chapter Six

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If anyone cares, this one was written largely to Pachelbel's Canon in D. I honestly feel like the emotion of the song pairs really well with the events of this chapter. 
> 
> /is a complete geek
> 
> By the way, I don’t understand how this happened but here is a monstrosity of a chapter. I never planned it to get so long. But rather than give you half of it and a devil of a cliffhanger, I decided to just post it all in one go.
> 
> …L kept talking. I blame him. lol
> 
> Enjoy!

Light’s heart is pounding. Today is Wednesday. He has been dreading it since Sunday. That is the word he uses with himself, anyway. Dread. ‘Anxiety’ is another he could have chosen, but Light dislikes the ambiguity of the term. Anxiety comes in two forms: the kind that accompanies the arrival of something dreadful and the kind that precedes something one looks forward to a great deal.

 

So he persists with ‘dread’ as a way of describing the pounding of his heart and the shaking in his fingers. He will not admit to any sort of anticipation.

 

He bathed twice in a row this morning. Excessive, but soothing to his nerves. The water was cold, as it usually is. They cannot spare the firewood needed to heat a full tub of water right now. He also experimented with parting his hair in several different manners before becoming too disgusted with himself to continue. Standing in front of the family’s single mirror, he combed his hair into exactly the form he always combs it and then turned away from his reflection very deliberately.

 

Light wears one of the outfits he finds acceptable for church: ironed dress pants and and a black button-down. He has only a small selection of clothing, and of that, only a handful of articles are appropriate for dress wear. The rest is quite worn, almost threadbare. He makes do with what he has.

 

It is early evening, and Mr. Lawliet could arrive at any time.

 

For the past hour, Light has been unable to sit still. He tried to sit, tried to relax, but he cannot. Every few minutes, he looks out the window, expecting to see Mr. Lawliet’s black carriage on the street there. But it never reveals itself. Every time he checks and comes away empty-handed, Light’s anxiety – no, dread – his _dread_ grows.

 

Sayu is still occupied in Schoolhouse…Mother is preparing dinner. She tells Light to be still several times, calling out from the kitchen. Light wants to tell her how very much he wishes he could. Father is still at the policehand’s academy.

 

He sits, he stands, he cleans things that don’t need cleaning, he sits again, he checks the window…again and again and again.

 

He frets so much that when a knock comes at the door, Light nearly jumps out of his skin.

 

He rushes to answer it, ready to get the waiting _over with_ already.

 

When he opens the door, it is Matsuda standing on the front step. He beams.

 

“Hey, Light!”

 

 _Where is Mr. Lawliet?_ Light thinks.

 

“Light, your husband is the _best_!” Matsuda says excitedly. He pulls a small bag out of his pocket, which jingles cheerily with coins. “He’s paying me more than any job ever has! I went to Mrs. Yoshi’s restaurant and got one of her breakfasts this morning just because I could!”

 

Light exhales, realizing his idiocy. Mr. Lawliet is not to receive him from his house…courtship rules dictate that the chaperone is the one to take him from his parent’s guardianship during outings.

 

_That must mean…._

 

“Hi, Matsuda. Are you…?” Light asks.

 

“I’m your chaperone!” Matsuda exclaims. He is so completely _chuffed_ about the whole situation. It fairly _radiates_ from him.

 

Matsuda grins from ear to ear, while Light can only blink.

 

“I guess he didn’t tell you that he was hiring me on as your chaperone? Oh man, isn’t it great? No more carting around Mr. Sasuke’s manure for me! I’ve hit it big!”

 

Mother comes out from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a dishtowel.

 

“Matsuda,” she greets, smiling. “Good to see you, dear. I suppose you are to be the chaperone?”

 

Matsuda nods. “You bet! What time should I have him back, Mistress Yagami?”

 

“Oh, I’m sure that nine will be quite alright.” She turns to Light and kisses his forehead. “We’ll see you back then, son. Have a good time.”

 

“Thanks, Mother,” Light replies.

 

“Bye, then!” Matsuda says cheerfully to her. Then he turns and leads Light down the path to the carriage.

 

As he follows behind, Light says firmly, “He’s not my husband, Matsuda.”

 

“Not yet, technically, I guess,” Matsuda says carelessly, over his shoulder. “But he will be! And look at all the great stuff he can afford! That carriage is the nicest one I’ve ever been in!”

 

Light sighs. There are plenty of rich people in the world. It isn’t as though Mr. Lawliet has a monopoly on coins.

 

Matsuda stops short halfway down the path, doing an about-face to meet Light’s eyes. His voice drops to a dramatic whisper. “And just between us, I don’t think that giving me a job is the only reason he picked me to be your chaperone. I think he did it for you, Light.”

 

Light rears back, disbelief surely written all over his face. “Why on earth would you think that?”

 

“Because, think about it!” continue Matsuda’s whispers. “Isn’t it more comfortable for you this way? Now you don’t have to be supervised by his grandfather, or by your parents, or some stranger! Plus…he knows I can be trusted to keep a secret if ever you guys….you know…”

 

Matsuda grins and his eyebrows do a sort of dance.

 

“There will be _none_ of that, Matsuda,” Light says flatly.

 

“Well, hey, it’s not like I’m saying you guys are going to _break_ the rules. But you know, people courting do bend them now and again.”

 

Unimpressed with this logic, Light says, “Yeah, well…I’m not going to jump off a bridge just because someone courting did it once before.”

 

Matsuda laughs. “Well, I’m just saying. Anyway, you’ll have a great time. Mr. Lawliet told me where he’s taking you! But I’ll let him tell you himself.”

 

And with that, Matsuda hurries down the rest of the path, leaving Light to follow.

 

When Light reaches the carriage, one of its doors opens from the inside and Mr. Lawliet emerges.

 

The first thing that Light notices, as Mr. Lawliet steps down from the carriage step, are the shining black boots he wears. They reach up to his knees, emphasizing the length of his legs. He wears a grey overcoat with silver fastenings down one side. A matching waistcoat and cravat underneath.

 

“Good afternoon, Light,” he says cordially, extending his hand. His eyes glitter.

 

“Good afternoon,” Light replies. He clears his throat. Seeing Mr. Lawliet again somehow both clouds his mind and sharpens it. He is reminded instantly of the news of Mr. Lawliet’s previous marriage, but also reminded of why the news matters to him so much. Light takes his hand, knowing he has little choice in the matter.

 

Mr. Lawliet assists him into the carriage. The step up is made of silver, and Light thinks wryly that it is a crime to put his worn, beaten leather shoe on its surface. Mr. Lawliet holds the door open for him as he climbs inside.

 

The cushions are black velvet, thick and plush. Everything in sight is pristine. There are silver filigreed handles for the windows (which have glass panes, not merely open rectangles, as the windows of his family’s carriage are) and a silver carpet on the floor. A carpet: the sort of mindless luxury that many Gentryman are known for.

 

And still, in Light’s eyes, Mr. Lawliet is not just another one of them. How Light wishes he could be.

 

 _It isn’t the time for wishing. It is the time for action._ Light thinks to himself sternly. _He_ is _just another one of them. I can make it so._

 

“Is it to your liking?” asks Mr. Lawliet, and Light realizes that he is referring to the carriage.

 

“It surely cost you a great deal, sir,” Light says. He realizes his words are not precisely an answer to the question Mr. Lawliet asked. He avoids looking at the man, with all of his intelligence and grace, and turns his gaze to the window. Through it, he can see that Matsuda has started them off on their journey. Trees pass by as if they are the ones moving along, and Light is the one standing still.

 

“I suppose that’s true,” Mr. Lawliet replies, then makes another stab at conversation. “I trust that Mr. Matsuda explained where we are going?”

 

“Actually no, sir.” Light shrugs, as if he can’t imagine why Matsuda might have thought to hesitate. “He wouldn’t tell me.”

 

“Odd…he seemed quite ready to let the cat out of the bag at any moment when he knocked on your door.”

 

Despite himself, Light laughs. He tries his best to smother it as it is born, and at least manages to keep it short.

 

Mr. Lawliet’s eyes gleam, as if in triumph. “You know, I may have underestimated him.”

 

“Why do you say that, sir?”

 

“He has shown more insight than I would have guessed he had, before this day,” Mr. Lawliet’s words are plain, but his meaning is cryptic.

 

“Insight into what, sir?”

 

“It would be indelicate of me to reveal at this juncture,” answers Mr. Lawliet. He gives a brief smile, which comes out petite and impish.

 

“Hmm,” says Light nonchalantly. He knows that Mr. Lawliet is trying to lure him into asking for details. Light is not in the mood to give Mr. Lawliet what he wants. “Well, then it ought not be said.”

 

“Are quite well, Light?” Mr. Lawliet asks, with a sudden seriousness. “You seem….not yourself.”

 

“’Myself’ is hardly more than a stranger to you.”

 

“Sometimes the difference between ‘hardly more than a stranger’ and ‘stranger’ is all I need.”

 

“Do you solve cases that way?” Light asks, diverting the subject but also asking out of genuine curiosity.

 

“Sometimes.”

 

Light can believe that. Maybe Mr. Lawliet is trying to boast and maybe he isn’t, but either way, he is the smartest person that Light has ever met. It is highly plausible that he could use the smallest clue to unlock the biggest mystery.

 

Once again, Light tries not to make eye contact, but somehow the universe conspires against him.

 

Mr. Lawliet is watching him with a kind of discreet curiosity. He has gone quiet, perhaps in the hope that if he talks less, Light will talk more.

 

First Light was concerned that he was being stupid over this man, then he got proof that he was being stupid, and he’s _still_ being stupid. What is _wrong_ with him? Light wants, absurdly, to tell Mr. Lawliet that it isn’t him. That Light has nothing but embarrassingly high regard for him and that he has does nothing offensive. That Light is angry with _himself_ , and for so many reasons. For the infatuation that was born in so short an acquaintance. For his inability to reconcile his feelings with his rationality – never having had to function before with feelings like these clouding his judgment. For the borderline rude way he reacts to Mr. Lawliet now and how unfair that is to him, when he has done nothing wrong.

 

Light resolves to be utterly polite. It should be easy enough: he has practiced it his whole life. He can be conversational. He can be pleasant enough company.

 

“Where, then, are you taking me, sir?” Light finally asks. He is fed up with himself.

 

“I thought I might take you to _Willows_.”

 

“ _Willows_?” asks Light thoughtlessly. He scolds himself for the quiet awe in his voice.

 

“Quite,” says Mr. Lawliet. “It isn’t a place you have frequented before, I take it?”

 

“No,” says Light shortly. “It isn’t.”

 

 _Willows_ is the sort of coffee house that only those with more money than they need can visit. Its prices do not exclude the middle classes, but anyone lower born than that would find it impossible to visit more than once or twice in a lifetime. Light has never been. His father’s wages go to the sustenance of their family, not frivolous pursuits like babycake and coffee milk.

 

“Do you like coffee?” Mr. Lawliet inquires conversationally.

 

In truth, Light does. Very much, in fact. As a child, he regarded it as something which adults surely only pretended to like, for the sake of fitting in with other adults. He found it too bitter by far and too potent on the tongue. Sometime in his early teenage years, though, he grew fond of it. It smelled divine when brewing, no matter what time of day it was. It had a rich and bold and dramatic flavor – a flavor to which nothing else could compare. And it sharpened his thoughts, which Light found addicting.

 

“A bit,” he answers.

 

“I confess that I have a bit of habit with coffee,” Mr. Lawliet says. “And sweets, as you heard at our dinner together, are more than a habit. So to combine the two is nothing short of ambrosia. _Willows_ has a reputation for producing both in the highest quality.”

 

Light knows this, if only because the ladies at church like to brag to each other when one of them visits the place. They explain in great detail how the place really is top notch and how it is a shame that those “less fortunate” cannot experience its wonders.

 

“Sounds good,” Light says, injecting some amount of cheer into his voice. “I can’t wait.”

 

* * *

 

 _Willows_ is not far away, and the carriage ride feels as though it has barely started when they arrive.

 

“Ah…” says Mr. Lawliet. “Here we are.”

 

He gets up from his carriage seat, pushing the door of the cabin open and nimbly hopping out. He holds out his hand for Light to take, waiting expectantly by the open door.

 

Looking out, Light sees that there are several small groups of people milling about the entrance. Many of them are staring in envy at the carriage, and at Mr. Lawliet, who projects ownership of it the same way he projects intelligence. Light can smell brewing coffee even from here, and the sweet, tempting scent of baked goods. The building itself is marked clearly with a sign that reads _Willows_ in a curling, elegant script. It is a bright, open structure: the outer walls are lined with floor to ceiling windows, which are left open, no doubt because of the spring warmth. The tinkling sounds of forks and knives filter out of them, as well as a hum of pleasant conversation.

 

Taking Mr. Lawliet’s hand in his and stepping down, Light realizes that the picture they paint will alert everyone in the vicinity to the fact that they are a couple in courtship.

 

Or, Light supposes, the onlookers might assume that they are already married. But neither of them wears a ring. Therefore, if anyone cares enough to look that closely, they will know exactly what kind of relationship the pair of them has.

 

Courting couples often draw some kind of public interest. Light has seen a few of them, now and again, at church or in the market or some such place…strangers will at times give them gifts of good luck. There was once a couple, a young man and woman whose names he didn’t know (obviously well into their courtship, judging by the way they gazed at each other and the specific, charged atmosphere surrounding them) who were presented with a holly branch at Mansfield Park. The woman who gave it to them was elderly and had a kind face. Light heard her say something like, “You two are adorable” and inquire after the date of their wedding.

 

Light has absolutely no idea how he ought to react if such a thing ever occurs between Mr. Lawliet and himself. What exactly are people looking for when they wish a perfect stranger well in something as intimate as a courtship? Polite acceptance? Gratitude? Blushing, stammering displays of how besotted they are with each other?

 

Belatedly, he realizes he has not let go of Mr. Lawliet’s hand. He does so with a sharp suddenness.

 

Matsuda calls out to them enthusiastically from the driver’s seat. “I’ll just wait here! Have fun!”

 

“Indeed, Matsuda,” Mr. Lawliet calls back carelessly. “Do not concern yourself, Light,” he continues more quietly, starting toward the door and leaving Light to follow. “They are all of them far too eager for the sweetbreads to pay any mind to the likes of us.”

 

It is a blatant lie, but the humor is still somehow comforting.

 

“Are you certain of that?” Light asks, trailing just behind him.

 

“Well…I confess that the sweetbread here confounds _my_ mind to a significant degree. Surely it stands to reason that it would do the same, or worse, to theirs.” Mr. Lawliet says all of this with a bored matter-of-factness.

 

Then, he looks over his shoulder and grins at Light.

 

Light swallows, hard. He gives a small, perfunctory laugh. He does not want to give away the knowledge that Mr. Lawliet has pleased him, but decides that response can be used to cover a more incriminating one. The lesser of two evils, really.

 

Despite the groups outside waiting, Mr. Lawliet strolls right into the place. He doesn’t even wait for one of the employees to invite them in. Light looks around, waiting for someone to make a fuss about this, but no one seems the least bit perturbed.

 

Light has no choice but to follow and so he does.

 

Inside, a man in an apron spots them immediately. He has flour covering his hands, his forearms, his apron, and even, somehow, his hair.

 

“Mr. Hideki!” he calls out warmly, approaching Mr. Lawliet. “How good to see you again!” His smile is nearly as large as his stomach.

 

Light wonders if the man perhaps has poor eyesight, mistaking Mr. Lawliet for someone else entirely.

 

“François,” Mr. Lawliet murmurs respectfully, when the man has reached them. “A pleasure, as always.”

 

 _An alias_ , Light realizes.

 

The man - François - bows in his direction to a truly astonishingly low level. Mr. Lawliet bows in return, though much more composedly.

 

“We are always prepared for your visits, of course – your usual table is all done up as you like…though we’ll need to add a second chair this time! Who is your charming companion?” François smiles at Light, looking him up and down as if he is particularly interesting oil painting.

 

“Allow me to introduce Light Asahi,” Mr. Lawliet says, turning slightly in Light’s direction. “This is the first evening of our courtship.” His eyes tell Light to keep up the charade.

 

Light bows in François’s direction politely. “How do you do?”

 

“Pleased to make your acquaintance, Mr. Asahi,” says François. He carries the air of a jovial bulldog. “If you like our little coffeehouse half as much as Mr. Hideki does, I shall consider the evening a success.”

 

“Thank you kindly, François,” Light replies. He can tell what part he is expected to play. “Mr. Hideki speaks very highly of you.”

 

François beams. “Ah, but he is too kind! Come, allow me to show you both to your table.”

 

As they walk through the coffeehouse, Light admits to himself that perhaps the gossips at church have a point: it _is_ a shame more people cannot visit. There seems to be nothing but rays of sunlight and warm colors everywhere he looks. In amongst the sea of tables, huge stone pillars stand at various intervals. Green vines climb up around them, bringing life to the place. There are tiny blue flowers blooming along the vines. The whole effect is both invigorating and peaceful at once.

 

They are shown to a table near an empty fireplace. It is separated somewhat from all of the rest and bears a wide selection of sugars: white, granulated sugar, brown sugar, molasses, maple syrup, and others that Light can’t immediately identify. There is only one chair, as François indicated. He takes a second from the nearest table and places it opposite the first.

 

“For the two gentleman,” François says cordially, bowing once more and gesturing to their seats. “Enjoy.”

 

With that, he leaves them alone.

 

Mr. Lawliet sits and Light copies him.

 

“You handled that very well,” Mr. Lawliet says, when François is out of earshot. “Who would think deception would come so naturally to you?”

 

“Clearly you had some suspicion that I could pull it off…otherwise you would have warned me beforehand, and instructed me in how to behave,” Light retorts. He takes one of the napkins from the tabletop and spreads it neatly into his lap. He was always taught that manners be should be observed, especially in company.

 

Mr. Lawliet makes an impressed _hmph_ sound in the back of his throat. “So you figured it out.”

 

Light isn’t flattered. “I suppose that was all some kind of test?”

 

“I didn’t choose _Willows_ for the opportunity to test you, Light.” Mr. Lawliet protests. “I chose it for the coffee and cake….testing you was just a happy bonus.”

 

“I see,” says Light stiffly.

 

“François provided a bit of assistance to me on a case some time ago. He also supplied the pies that Grandfather and I brought to your church that day. Perhaps, Light, I ought to explain that as a detective, I sometimes require the use of…disguise. And that one such disguise happens to be Mr. Ryuga Hideki, a wealthy fur trader from the north, who dabbles in woodworking and has a penchant for the finer things in life.”

 

“And you plan to continue the disguise indefinitely,” Light says, for the simple purpose of revealing to Mr. Lawliet how much he understands. “It will serve you well anytime you require François’s assistance again, plus make your story more believable the longer you stick to it.”

 

“Precisely,” Mr. Lawliet says with a nod. “So I would, of course, appreciate your discretion in the matter.”

 

Light nods. Being party to a falsehood isn’t the most admirable of moral stances, but it is in the service of the greater good, and Light can let it go.

 

A waiter suddenly appears at their table, as if from thin air.

 

“What might I bring for you, sirs?” he asks.

 

Mr. Lawliet takes the liberty of ordering for them both. Light is grateful for it, though he will never say so, because he has no idea what is available.

 

“Two espressos…in fact, make them both a double. Light simply must try the babycake. It is his first visit, you see. For myself…sweetbread, of course. And do ask François to be generous with the caramel.”

 

The waiter nods and leaves silently. Efficiency is clearly the hallmark here, and Light is impressed.

 

They wait for their orders in silence. It isn’t awkward but Light does feel discomforted somehow. When the waiter returns, he lays out their items neatly. The babycake looks to be a round, spongy thing, with strawberries and cream piled high on top. Mr. Lawliet’s sweetbread is oblong and piping hot, covered in caramel.

 

Light takes a sip of the espresso and has to stop himself from moaning at the taste. The flavor carries a swift kick, more powerful than anything he has ever had at home.

 

“It is divine, is it not?” asks Mr. Lawliet knowingly.

 

“Pleasant, sir,” says Light. “Very pleasant.”

 

“And the babycake? Try it.”

 

Light cuts a small section away from the rest. He prefers to try new things in small quantities at first. Mr. Lawliet watches him closely as he takes his first bite.

 

It is _mouthwatering_. Smooth and sweet and cool and rich all at the same time. And contrasting nicely with the bitterness of the coffee.

 

“Yes?” asks Mr. Lawliet, seemingly impatient for his verdict.

 

“It is nice…quite nice.”

 

Mr. Lawliet wilts ever so slightly. He sprinkles an ungodly amount of brown sugar on top of the rivers of caramel on his plate. “Light, forgive me, but you seem a bit…frosty,” he remarks. “Have I annoyed you somehow?”

 

 _I wish you had,_ thinks Light. _It would make all of this so much easier._ His mind treacherously follows that up with: _Your perfection, certainly, has annoyed me a great deal._

 

“Not at all, sir,” he says.

 

“Are you sure? Let me guess, is it because I am the only one eating sweetbread at the moment?” Mr. Lawliet asks. “Here, have some.” He holds out the saucer in Light’s direction.

 

“No, really, I’m fine,” Light protests, waving the sweetbread away.

 

“Hmmm,” murmurs Mr. Lawliet. “Well, I know that something is the matter. If you wish not to tell me, I’ll simply have to accept that.”

 

Despite himself, Light laughs derisively. “Do you really mean that? You don’t seem the type to let something go once it captures your attention.”

 

L’s eyes bore into his with a strange intensity. “You’re right…I don’t.”

 

Light nods. He can identify with some measure of tenacity.

 

Suddenly Mr. Lawliet asks, “Are you upset about what my grandfather said that night to your parents?”

 

“I’m not _upset_ ,” says Light at once. “What reason could I have to be upset?”

 

“Oh, I don’t know…” Mr. Lawliet replies, sounding very much like he _does_ know. “Perhaps the realization that I have been married before came as a shock to you.”

 

“Not at all, sir. I was reminded of the truth, that’s all: that I know next to nothing about you. Therefore, I’m behaving toward you just as familiarly as is appropriate between you and I.”

 

Mr. Lawliet says wonderingly, “You _are_ upset.”

 

Light narrows his eyes at him.

 

“Light,” says Mr. Lawliet. “You must know that it’s a perfectly normal reaction. No one’s fiancé hears of a previous engagement with a smile and a laugh.”

 

“You were not merely _engaged_ ,” Light says with a sneer. “Don’t sugarcoat. It insults my intelligence. You were married. Do you deny it?”

               

“No,” Mr. Lawliet concedes.

 

“No,” agrees Light, with a certain finality that he relishes. “Therefore, my point stands. I do not know you, and the only appropriate manner in which to behave in your presence is…”

 

Light’s voice trails away. He does not know how to complete his sentence.

 

“Yes?” prompts Mr. Lawliet.

 

“Is the manner in which I behave now,” Light amends.

 

“And if you knew me better?” Mr. Lawliet asks. “In what manner would you then comport yourself?”

 

“That would depend on what of yourself was revealed to me, and if it were true.”

 

“I will always be true to you, Light.” Mr. Lawliet says, and the atmosphere between them deepens with the naked sincerity in his voice.

 

Light will not allow himself to be manipulated. “If that is so, you’ll explain the details of that marriage, and any other marriages. And if I feel the need to confirm what you say with a third party, you won’t stop me.”

 

“I don’t recall telling you that my previous marriage was to remain a secret from you.” Mr. Lawliet says mildly. “And there _was_ only one of them.”

 

Their coffees remain largely untouched in front of them. Steam rises gently off of the surface of each cup.

 

“Why do you suppose a wealthy, roguish twenty-one-year-old man, who travelled the world solving crime, would marry a fourteen-year-old girl?” Mr. Lawliet asks.

 

Light blinks. He supposes that the realization that Mr. Lawliet married someone that young would cause most people to gasp in alarm, judge him a devil, and refuse his company.

 

Light is not (usually) a rash person, however. He approaches the question as though it is theoretical. At fourteen, Light believes that he himself was more settled and disciplined than many of the elders in church. It is not inconceivable that someone like that might catch Mr. Lawliet’s eye, despite her age.

 

“I assume she was a very… _mature…_ fourteen-year-old,” he says.

 

“Not at all,” Mr. Lawliet argues. “If anything, a bit _im_ mature.”

 

Light’s jaw sets itself firmly. Is Mr. Lawliet truly admitting to the kind of deviancy so heinous it can barely be spoken aloud?

 

“I didn’t _want_ her, Light. I did it to save the girl’s life.”

 

Light realizes that his fists are curled tightly and he works to unclench them. He looks Mr. Lawliet in the eye, searching for some clue pointing to the truth. He allows himself to stare freely at his every feature, from the curve of his lips to the length of his eyelashes. Mr. Lawliet endures it without a hint of unease.

 

_Would a guilty man seem as he seems?_

 

“…I’m listening.” Light says. And then the story begins.

 

* * *

 

“How familiar are you with Balkya?” Mr. Lawliet asks. This is how he starts.

 

Light’s brows furrow. “Not very. It’s a foreign country with many rivers…that’s the extent of my knowledge.” He is unashamed of his relative ignorance, knowing that it stems from circumstances beyond his control.

 

“It is indeed. It is also home to several opium smuggling rings. Rather, I should say, it _was._ The waterways made shipments easy, but they also gave me many clues. The sediment on the riverbanks in particular was very…no, nevermind. That is not relevant. What is relevant is the sort of customs that Balkyans…espouse. _Some_ Balkyans, I mean to say. It is never accurate to throw a blanket over a society and insist that all must lay under it. You see, Balkyans are commonly associated with water, because of their famous rives…but what caught my attention during the time I spent with them was their peculiar use of fire.”

 

Despite himself, Light is fascinated. This is more cultural education than anything he ever had in schoolhouse. He sips from his coffee cup. The espresso is too hot still to be entirely comfortable on his tongue, but he finds he can’t resist.

 

Mr. Lawliet copies him, then begins again. “The Balkyans have, since ancient times, used a dowry system similar the one used here. However, instead of using some combination of a person’s financial station and their gender to separate out whose family ought to pay a dowry and who ought to receive one, Balkyans use a person’s gender, almost exclusively. Our arrangement, for example, would be unheard of there. You would have to be a woman for it to ever be considered. Or I would, I suppose.”

 

Light makes a sort of unimpressed _hmm_ sound. As far as he is concerned, using finances _or_ gender to decide who can marry whom is ridiculous.

 

“I quite agree,” Mr. Lawliet says wryly, reading his expression. “And in addition to that, some Balkyans do not place any great emphasis on the virtue of forgiveness. A Balkyan, once shamed, will carry the burden of that shame for the rest of their lives. Especially females, who seem to be thought of as more of an expression of male power than powers in their own right. Which was very, very dangerous for a girl in Amra’s position. That was her name. Amra.”

 

Light tries to sort out what sort of emotion rests in Mr. Lawliet when he speaks his late wife’s name. Light senses a kind of aged regret, almost as though Mr. Lawliet is a man much older than he really is, and has seen more things than any twenty-four-year old could possibly have seen. Light nods, encouraging Mr. Lawliet to continue.

 

The question _did you love her?_ hovers like a ghost over Light’s mind, but he doesn’t voice it.

 

“You see,” continues Mr. Lawliet. “Amra was arranged to be married to someone - a man I never knew - and her dowry had been agreed upon long before the wedding day. Girls as young as twelve are routinely married in Balkya; her age was of no concern to anyone in the community. But when the wedding day came, it was discovered that many of the jewels her father had promised to her future husband as payment were nothing but mere replicas - not worth half the sum he thought they were. And so Amra was rejected at the altar, and quite shamed. So shamed, in fact, that no one else in her town would ever seek to marry her. They wouldn’t want the first failed engagement to be listed in their family histories. But that was the least of Amra’s problems, really. A bride that is rejected at the altar, no matter the reason or circumstance, is punished, in Balkya.”

 

Mr. Lawliet says this very gravely. Light feels a sinking sensation in his stomach. He thinks he knows the answer, but he asks the question anyway.

 

“How are they punished?”

 

“With fire. Balkyans use fire to burn away shameful scars. There are many people whose hands are burned when they are caught stealing, or whose lips are burned for lying. But rejected brides are seen to be more shameful than either of those. And so they themselves are burned. To death.”

 

It is like ice has been dumped over Light’s entire body, so chilled is he to hear this.

 

“That’s _barbaric_ ,” he says viciously.

 

“It is certainly cruel,” says Mr. Lawliet. “I witnessed the proceedings because of my involvement in the opium case…a lead that went nowhere, in the end. And though I knew nothing about her, I could not stand by and let such a thing occur without trying to prevent it. As a foreigner, I had the unique opportunity to save her. No one else in the town would ever ask for her hand in marriage, but I would. What did it matter to me if her shame became mine? I was not planning to remain in Balkya. And even if I had been, of course the threat of societal disgrace was well worth the price of a young girl’s life. I didn’t speak Balkyan fluently at the time…I have since learned. But I knew enough, then, to ask her father for her hand. Having a husband lessened Amra’s dishonor enough that she was spared. We were married that very hour. I was made to wear a sort of strange headdress…Grandfather says it clashed horribly with my hair.”

 

“Mr. Wammy was there?” asks Light. He doesn’t know why this is the detail he questions, when so many others are more important.

 

“Oh yes…he has always travelled with me.” Mr. Lawliet drinks from his cup. “Light, how do you think Amra viewed me?”

 

“I suppose she would have been very grateful to you.” Light says.

 

Mr. Lawliet opens his mouth to respond, but Light interrupts him before he can get a word out, realizing something. “But no…no, on second thought…Someone in her position would look at you as though you were…”

 

“A brute, yes.” Mr. Lawliet smiles, as if the idea were very amusing. “Very good, Light. You have the makings of a fine detective.”

 

Light casts his eyes to his coffee cup, tucks it between his hands with the utmost neatness.

 

“Amra had every reason to suspect me of being a truly villainous man. A foreigner who marries the first girl he can? A weak one, at that, with no prospects and no recourse should something evil befall her? What possible reason could I have had for saving her? The only reason she could see, at first, was the very thing you suspected of me a few minutes ago.” Mr. Lawliet chuckles.

 

Light wills himself not to blush. He is _not_ ashamed of his suspicion. Mr. Lawliet himself put the notion into Light’s head. But Light can at least reassure Mr. Lawliet as to his thoughts now.

 

“I see now that you are not wicked, sir,” he says. There are words that prickle the back of his throat and he forces himself to get them out. “If you ever….loved her in that way…it would surely have been because of who she was, not because of her being a child.”

 

“I never loved her in _any_ way, Light.” Mr. Lawliet says, with the kind of earnestness that Light is inclined to believe. “She always told me that she loved me, once she realized I wasn’t going to prey upon her, but it could not have been true. She didn’t know me. And neither did I ever really know her. I don’t even think she ever realized I was a detective. I could have been one of those opium lords for all she knew. She was grateful to me for saving her life, and for giving her access to a world beyond what she had known before – that is what her ‘love’ stemmed from. And outside of the hobbies she had to occupy her time, I didn’t know anything about her personally either. We had the language barrier at first, or the excuse of the language barrier, but eventually what it came down to was…simple incompatibility.”

 

Light processes this for a few moments. He is normally quick to avoid silences in conversation (they make him extremely uneasy, for reasons he can’t identify) but he has noticed that with Mr. Lawliet, the quiet is not a bad thing.

 

If Mr. Lawliet is being untrue, he is very talented actor, Light decides.

 

“Amra tried her best to be a good wife. She was true to me, and unfailingly honest. She was sincere in her professions of love, even if they were ultimately misguided. But I was a savior to her, not a lover. I gave her things she wanted – tutors, music lessons, dresses, books….she was enamored of all that the world had to offer, all the things she had never had the opportunity to explore before. That is why Grandfather thinks she was never really cut out for marriage. She hadn’t grown into her own person yet. I was never able to accept the idea that her life would have been snuffed out so suddenly, her personhood extinguished, through something that was not her fault. She _would_ have made someone else a good wife, when she had grown up. I still feel that it was well worth it, to do what I did.”

 

“If you saved her life…what happened to her to make you a widower?” Light asks.

 

“She became ill…very ill. A disease was being passed around Balkya…it was a wonder that Grandfather and I never contracted it. So many were infected. She was one of them. It was vicious.”

 

“I’m sorry,” Light murmurs. He knows it doesn’t help.

 

“Thank you,” says Mr. Lawliet. He sounds like he really means it. “I did all that I could for her and despite all my efforts…she died anyway. I wish I could have changed the outcome for her. She had been so scared and so tormented and I saw her growing into someone eager for life. I saw how she grew to trust me, instead of fearing me. I was charmed by her, I suppose, in the same way that I can see you being charmed by Sayu.”

 

Light nods. He is beginning to understand Mr. Lawliet’s feelings for the girl.

 

“You said she would have made someone _else_ a good wife….does that mean that even if she had grown up, you would never have stayed with her?”

 

Mr. Lawliet looks at Light with frank remorse. It is an odd expression to see on his features.

 

“What is it?” Light wonders aloud.

 

“Light, I said that I would be true to you, and so I will be. But I must ask for your understanding. I _would_ have stayed with her, yes. I would have been as true as any husband ought to be. But I could never have loved her in the way that she professed to love me. Does that answer your question?”

 

“Yes, but…it doesn’t explain the guiltiness in your eyes.” Light tells him.

 

“Well, Light, when I said that I would have been as true as any husband ought to be, that included the performance of certain intimacies.”

 

Light doesn’t know what to make of his own feelings in that moment. “Do you mean…”

 

Mr. Lawliet nods. “And I have the sneaking suspicion that you will be harsh in your judgment of that.”

 

Light examines his own thoughts before answering. “I…would be, yes. If you had planned to delude her into it. Promising to love her in return, when you knew you never would.”

 

“Then let me lay that misgiving to rest. I would not have misled her.”

 

“Then why…perform those intimacies at all?”

 

Mr. Lawliet shrugs in a half-apologetic, half-utterly _not_ apologetic way. “Well…I am a man, after all.”

 

Light’s cheeks burn. He doesn’t know what to say, and feels like a fool for asking his last question.

 

“But perhaps,” says Mr. Lawliet musingly. “Fate really exists. Perhaps I was meant for someone else, and that is why such a thing never occurred.” He changes the subject. “Her father was never brought up on charges, unfortunately. Balkya’s laws did not allow for it. I wish I had been in a position to change that, but politics has never been my area of expertise, I’m afraid.”

 

“How could anyone ever consider doing something so wicked?” asks Light rhetorically. “And as if murder itself were not enough, the man was about to murder his own daughter!”

 

“I do feel sorry for him,” Mr. Lawliet says. He sips his coffee.

 

Light cannot believe his ears. “He was surely one of the most evil human beings of our time, sir.”

 

“Perhaps,” admits Mr. Lawliet easily. “But I do believe his upbringing had a great deal to do with the choices he made. And I feel correct in my assessment of his intelligence: he was too senseless to know better.”

 

“Ought a person be spared because of their stupidity, then? Is idiocy now a redeeming quality?” Light cannot stop himself. He rebels so forcefully against this idea that objections pour out of his mouth like he is talking to an equal, not a Gentryman. “My stars, how can someone as smart as you be so obtuse about something like this? L, it’s impossible that - ” 

 

“Well, no…” L pauses, laughing a bit. “Light, I am not saying that a criminal should be pardoned based on substandard intellect. But surely if someone of substandard intellect were _instructed_ to behave in an evil manner, they should not be punished according to the standards of one who had the means to know better in the same circumstance.”

 

“Hmm….” Light muses. “You might have a minor point there, I concede.”

 

L smiles. “How gracious of you.”

 

Light feels instantly abashed. “I didn’t mean any offense…or pride. You must understand. I wasn’t –“

 

L brushes away his apologies (such as they are) with a careless wave of his hand. “Not at all, Light. I’m merely…what is the word? Teasing.”

 

 _Teasing_ , thinks Light. The word sits in his mind and gets comfortable there.

 

“Incidentally,” says L thoughtfully. “I am glad to hear you call me by my given name. I was hoping the title wouldn’t last too much longer. I’ve asked your family to do the same, but I think they will require more time. I had your father convinced to call me L, at one time, but it seems not to have stuck.”

 

“If you wanted me to call you by your given name, why didn’t you simply ask me to?”

 

“A sort of…illogical self-indulgence on my part,” L tells him. “You see, I had it in my head that you ought to come to the decision yourself. As a mark of comfort in my presence, not the acquiescence to my own wishes.”

 

“It wasn’t a decision so much as a reaction,” Light argues. “You are very frustrating.”

 

The word _teasing_ floats through his thoughts again, provocatively.

 

L laughs again. “Oh, am I?”

 

“Indeed, _sir_ ,” Light says the ‘sir’ with a great deal of unrealistic emphasis. Knowing that L wishes Light to call him by his given name is enough for Light to call him that forevermore. He says ‘sir’ now only to be contrary.

 

The effect would be better if Light could only keep the smile off his face.

 

“And how am I frustrating, then?” L asks. He, in turn, injects an over-the-top solicitousness to his tone.

 

“You lead me to believe that you held a moral view that you do not, in fact, hold.”

 

“Did I? I don’t recall.”

 

“You most certainly did. It happened right here, not five minutes ago. At this very table.”

 

“Hmm, well, if you say it happened, Light, it must have. After all, who am I to contradict?”

 

“Who indeed? You, with your diplomas from whatever universities you no doubt sailed through, and I, with my half of schoolhouse? How dare you contradict me?”

 

L only watches him from across the table, sipping his coffee and smiling slightly. Perhaps he doesn’t want to explore the topic of their inequality, even in jest.

 

“Do you think my arguments childish?” Light asks. He realizes he won’t even be offended if L says yes. L is intelligent and educated and Light is only one of those. Ego holds no weight here…Light only wants to know so that he may improve. And he cannot improve without knowing that he needs to.

 

“Not at all. You have a strong sense of justice, and bold views of right and wrong. If only more individuals shared your views,” L laments. He stares into his coffee cup, tilting his head at it thoughtfully. “But then again….if such morality were to become commonplace, I might be out of a job.” He glances up at Light again and the hint of a smile dances in his eyes.

 

“I’m sure that someone of your intelligence would be able to find new work quickly,” says Light carelessly.

 

“Oh? Do you think so?”

 

“I would have to be an idiot not to.”

 

“Is this flattery I hear?” L inquires.

 

Light scoffs. He sips his coffee carefully before answering. “I don’t waste my time on flattery. If I compliment you, it is because I mean the compliment most sincerely.”

 

“Can flattery itself never be sincere then?”

 

“Well…I suppose so. Sometimes.” Light concedes. “However, that does not mean that this moment is an instance of one of them.”

 

“But surely there is a time and place for sincere flattery, hmm?” L prods. “And if so, ought not Courting be that time?”

 

Light feels his own eyes narrow calculatingly. He feels an unfamiliar thrill race across his skin. “You are attempting to entrap me.”

 

“Ohhhhh, not I, Mr. Yagami.” L answers grandly. “I would not dare.”

 

Light laughs, feeling an almost… _fond_ ….amusement. “Do you not mean Mr. Lawliet-to-be?”

 

From across the table, L pauses, then smiles at him victoriously. “It does have a certain ring…wouldn’t you agree?”

 

Light feels as though he is playing with fire. He likes it. “I do,” he says.

 

Suddenly, the slam of a cabinet door sounds from somewhere behind them. Light suspects it comes from the kitchens. They look in the direction of the bang and find that François is walking around extinguishing oil lamps. Light realizes that _Willows_ is completely deserted…no other patrons remain, save for the two of them.

 

“Hmmm…I believe they are trying to hint something to us, Light.”

 

“Is it really closing time?”

 

“It seems so…” says L. “It is odd that neither of us noticed.” He pulls a handful of silver coins out of some pocket or other and leaves them on the table.

 

Light nods. He is normally so punctual. _I’ll be late getting home._ The thought doesn’t overly concern him.

 

Matsuda’s face pokes through one of the open windows near to them. “Uh, guys?” he calls out. “I don’t think it’s really public anymore. Everyone’s gone except the shopkeeper.”

 

* * *

 

As Matsuda drives them back to Light’s house, L tells Light about one of his former cases: a bizarre series of events that involved, somehow, a horse, a wine bottle filled with embezzled gold, and a brothel manager from Summer Falls. The story has Light laughing so much that his cheeks begin to hurt.

 

“And the man had the audacity to ask for his wine back afterward,” L says wryly.

 

“You didn’t give it to him, did you?” Light asks, wiping his eyes.

 

“Oh heavens, no. That bottle is currently on a fireplace mantle in the manor. The _contents_ of it, though, were donated anonymously to several orphanages in the surrounding area.”

 

They feel the carriage pull to a stop, just in front of Light’s home. Light wonders where all the time has gone.

 

“So, Light…did you enjoy yourself?”

 

“Very much,” Light can’t keep himself from smiling. In the end, he stops trying to. _I’m allowed a bit of fun_ , he tells himself. _Calm down and enjoy it._ “François is quite the character.”

 

L laughs. “You should see him in a beret.”

 

Light snickers. “He’s quite a fan of yours. Are there others out there? People you’ve charmed during your travels?”

 

“I hope there’s at least one,” says L with a smile. Light blushes and looks at the silver carpet on the floor.

 

“I should be getting back,” he forces himself to say.

 

“Indeed,” says L quietly. “The hour is late.” He reaches for Light’s hand, and Light holds it out for him automatically. L’s long fingers cradle his.

 

Neither of them moves or says anything for several beats.

 

“Goodnight, then.” L murmurs. “Goodnight, Mr. Lawliet-to-be.”

 

He kisses Light’s knuckles, and Light ought to be used to this part by now, but he finds that really, really isn’t. It feels like his stomach is doing cartwheels.

 

Light swallows. “Goodnight…L.”

 

It takes a bit more strength of will than is completely reasonable to remove his hand from L’s after that. He does, though, and opens the carriage door. Matsuda is waiting for him outside.

 

Mr. Lawliet is not allowed to venture out of the carriage at this point. Light must be delivered to him by the designated chaperone and taken _from_ him by the designated chaperone at the end of the evening. Those are the rules. They force Light into a position of property, effectively, and Light resents it. Borrowed from his parents’ possession, delivered into his Suitor’s possession for a short while, then back into his parents’ possession again.

 

“Light, come _on_ ,” Matsuda urges, grabbing Light by the bicep and pulling him down the path. “You’re already late! Soichiro is going to _kill me_.”

 

“It’ll be fine, Matsuda, don’t worry,” Light tells him evenly. Inside, though, he knows that Father will be concerned, at best.

 

Father answers the door, alone. Mother is nowhere to be seen. Light supposes that she must have gone to bed already. She has always been reasonable in her protectiveness of he and Sayu. Father has always been a bit more…extreme in his vigilance.

 

“Light…where on _earth_ have you been?” he asks, by way of greeting. He does not look happy.

 

“Sorry, Dad…we lost track of time.” Light steps through the doorway, being careful not to cast one last glance at the carriage - at L - over his shoulder as he does. It would not serve his purposes to have Father see that.

 

“How am I supposed to accept that when the very first night of your Courtship, you break rules?” Father demands. He moves aside only as much as he must to give Light space to come inside. Then, he moves directly into the middle of the doorframe, as though he feels he needs to block Light from anyone who might be wanting to steal him away.

 

“Dad, nobody broke any rules,” Light says wearily. He resists the urge to roll his eyes. _Here we go_. “It isn’t a rule to come back at the appointed time. It’s customary, nothing more.”

 

“Light - ”

 

Matsuda laughs nervously, cutting Father off. “Hey, Soichiro…I know it’s late…sorry! I didn’t mean to bring him back after curfew, it’s just that the coffeehouse owner didn’t ever turn off the lights and I didn’t want to just barge in on them…not that anything went on! It was totally public, of course, how could it have?!” he follows up this stunningly un-reassuring speech with even more nervous laughter.

 

Light sighs.

 

Father stares at Matsuda with a complete lack of expression, which somehow throws his authority into sharp relief. It is clear that he is totally unimpressed.

 

Matsuda rubs the back of his neck and can’t meet Father’s eyes anymore. “Okay! So…I guess I’ll be going then. I mean, Mr. Lawliet and I will be going. Well, I’ll drive the carriage to my house and then Mr. Lawliet’s going to drive himself the rest of the way to Silver Hills. Because it’s his carriage. Not mine. Obviously. But you guys know that already!” Yet more nervous laughter. “Okay, so….bye, Light! Bye, Soichiro!”

 

And with that, Matsuda hurries down the path and to the carriage. The horses set off in record time.

 

Light prepares himself for damage control as soon as Father closes the door behind them, turning around to face him.

 

“Light, how could you –“ Father starts, but Light interrupts his monologue before it can really get going.

 

“Dad, I’m supposed to marry the man in less than a year and I barely know him and he barely knows me…we have a lot to talk about. We just forgot the time. It’s not unreasonable.”

 

“Light, it is far past the time we appointed for you and it’s not like you to be so careless!” Father doesn’t raise his voice, but he does speak the words in an emphatic whisper, no doubt controlling himself just enough to avoid waking Sayu and Mother upstairs. “If I find that Mr. Lawliet has done _anything_ improper this night, so help me - ”

 

“He didn’t do anything! It’s not like me to be Courting either, Father, but here I stand!” Light tires quickly of the insinuation that he and L could have been anything less than proper, and also feels a separate, burning indignation on L’s behalf. “If you don’t believe me, ask Matsuda to confirm my story. We never left the coffee shop, or did anything against the rules. I’m really tired now…I’m going to bed.”

 

Father blinks at him and his jaw falls open slightly. Light has never behaved in even a remotely impatient manner with either of his parents. Light supposes that Father is more surprised than affronted.

 

Light himself wonders what has gotten into him. Perhaps it is the late hour. Light does not function at his best without a proper sleeping schedule. Idly, he wonders if L will be falling to sleep himself soon or if he will stay awake long into the night, hunting criminals and catching them easily. He grins to himself.

 

Father makes a considering sort of sound. “I see…well, then…goodnight, son.”

 

“Goodnight, Father,” Light says.

 

He goes into the kitchen and fairly falls into his bed, all of his day clothes still on. With a tired, pleasant kind of haze, he stares at the ceiling. This is the most privacy he ever really gets, and it allows him to reflect.

 

It seems that his apprehension concerning their compatibility was unfounded after all. Light has never been able to hold so much conversation with someone he was so unfamiliar with. Not enjoyably, anyway. To think, he and L were so engaged in each other’s minds that the passing of time became no more noticeable than the constant turning of the globe or the steady beating of his heart.

 

Today was a good day.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for faster updates!
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of this chapter! I’m so excited that L and Light have started their “dates” now. And that Light can finally call L by his name, instead of Mr. Lawliet! Lol 
> 
> Fair warning: the Jane Austen references may become a recurring theme…I have a problem, clearly. Also, canon!aliases ftw!
> 
> As always, thank you, BC3, for all of your help plotting this and future chapters! I love how your mind works. ;)
> 
> And thank you to all of you reading for all of your encouragement and feedback! I’m so gratified by the reception this fic has gotten so far!
> 
> \- Magic


	7. Chapter Seven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those who are interested: Strauss’s The Blue Danube Waltz and Brahms’s Hungarian Dance No. 5 and Shostakovich’s Waltz No. 2 this time. ☺ This chapter actually features music and these are the dances I hear playing during certain scenes.
> 
> Also, L and Light are moving faster than I had anticipated. Lol I really shouldn’t be surprised.
> 
> …these chapter lengths are getting out of hand. 
> 
> By the way, Light's birthday is tomorrow!

_Light,_

_I hope this letter finds you well. I must admit that our last meeting was immensely enjoyable. Before you and I visited Willows together, I had not ever been there in company. I will be unsurprised to miss your presence there the next time I am to partake of espresso._

_Grandfather and I have been occupied with a rather extensive case of late…I don’t doubt that I will solve it and bring the perpetrator to justice but I find the work taxing nonetheless, in a way I have not before. I expect that you have been taken with the planting. I have never had the experience, but I imagine that it must be exhausting work. Do keep yourself well rested._

_I wonder if you might have a day approaching which is not consumed with it?_

_There is a garden dance being held in Golden Apple this Saturday, April 27 th. Have you any interest in accompanying me there? There is to be music and a fair amount of food and drink and generally the sort of atmosphere conducive to public socializing. Dancing too, of course. Have you ever been to Golden Apple? If not, I daresay you will be enamored of the open fields of grass and apple orchards, which spread for miles and miles. _

_Send your reply by way of Mr. Matsuda, at your convenience._

_Your Suitor,_

_L_

_P.S. – I do hope that your father is not too angry with me. He is not a man to be trifled with. It does not require a detective to deduce that much._

* * *

_L,_

_I am very well, thank you. And yes…our last meeting was enjoyable for me as well. Willows was great and the company better._

_The planting is as dull as ever but I do not suffer for it. I’ve had more than a few years to devise the best ways of going about it. Best of luck to you on your case – though I know you don’t need it. I wonder why you are finding this one so taxing? (Feel free to disregard the question if answering in writing poses any security risk.)_

_As to your question, I believe I may make myself available to you on that day. I have never been to a garden dance, or to Golden Apple. Shall I plan to be away from home throughout the day, then, if we are to travel that far?_

_Your Match,_

_Light_

_P.S. - Father has come around, I think. He isn’t ending your Suit, or our Courtship, and by that I can tell that no permanent harm has been done._

_P.P.S. – However, I really think you ought to try to be less entertaining at our next meeting. It will lower the odds of my forgetting the time again._

* * *

_Light,_

_You vixen. Are you quite sure you have not been Courted before? Or had some sort of lover? Perhaps you are naturally gifted at turning men’s hearts. I am quite aware that you are a natural at turning their eyes._

_As to the case, I do not think it poses a risk to say that the mystery at hand is one of murder. Murders are always taxing in a way that larceny or forgery will never be. As to why this one in particular taxes me so…I suppose I shall only know when the case is solved._

_Our meeting will last the day long, yes. Matsuda and I will be at your home as the sun rises on the 27 th. _

_I am quite looking forward to it._

_Your Suitor,_

_L_

* * *

“Oooooo, Light is going to spend the whole day with _loverboy_ today.”

 

The Yagami family is sitting down to breakfast. Sayu has schoolhouse starting soon, Father needs to be at work within the hour, and Light…

 

Light soon has a carriage to catch.

 

“Sayu, eat your porridge,” says Mother.

 

Their table is laden with porridge and biscuits. Light forces himself to eat, knowing that there will be a long journey ahead of him, but he finds it difficult. There is a flutter in his stomach that makes food unappealing. He diligently ignores Sayu’s taunts.

 

“He is! Mr. Lawliet and Light are going to _hug_ and _kiss_ and - ”

 

“Enough, Sayu,” says Father.

 

“But Father -!”

 

“ _Enough_ ,” he says again, more sternly, and this time, Sayu obeys.

 

It is daybreak…beautiful and crisp. Small rays of sunlight are crawling through the house windows, and with them come the knowledge that at any moment, L will be here.

 

Light has his letters kept hidden under his straw mattress. It is not traditional for a person to keep any letters from their Suitor beyond the initial Offer letter. But Light finds that he does not want to part with them. And it is not _against_ the rules to keep them, so he does as he pleases.

 

“Light…you _will_ be home on time tonight, correct?” Father asks. It comes out more like a command than a question.

 

“Yes, Father,” Light says dutifully. He means it. Father was tolerant the last time but he will not be if such a thing becomes a habit.

Light has packed a small rucksack with two biscuits, a jar of syrup, and a flagon of water. He does not know whether or not the early hour will mean that L hasn’t had time for breakfast. He had to come from Silver Hills, retrieve Matsuda, and then come to Light’s house all before sunrise, after all.

 

If they are to be spending the day out of doors and dancing, they both will need nourishment.

 

Dancing.

 

Light has never danced before. He finds the overall concept simple but the actual execution is…more problematic. He does not generally enjoy performing something for the first time in public, preferring to master a task in private first before displaying it for judgment. He pushes the possibility of making a fool of himself into the furthest corner of his mind.

 

“Light will mind the time, won’t you, dear?” says Mother reassuringly to him. “Just remember to allow for the trip back home when you leave Golden Apple.”

 

Light nods. “I will,” he says.

 

“Matsu is here!” Sayu suddenly yells. She is standing up from her chair, staring excitedly out of the front window. Light turns around in his seat to see that, indeed, there Matsuda stands, leaning against the glass panes and waving enthusiastically at them.

 

“I’d better be going, then,” Light announces. He stands from the table and slings his rucksack over his shoulder.

 

“Yes, dear,” says Mother. “Don’t keep Mr. Lawliet waiting.”

 

Father coughs. “I’ll see you out, Light.”

 

“Have fun, Light! Tell Mr. Lawliet hello for me! Dance to every song!” Sayu calls out as Light and Father leave the kitchen.

 

They meet Matsuda at the front step.

 

“Hi Soichiro! Hi Light! Are you all ready to go?” says Matsuda immediately, when they open the door.

 

Light nods. “Bye, Father….I’ll be back after dinner tonight.”

 

“Goodbye son….Eight o’clock.” Father says firmly.

 

Light nods and can’t help but laugh a bit. He wonders if L can hear all of this in his carriage. “Eight o’clock.”

 

“Eight o’clock!” Matsuda chirps. “Got it. I won’t let you down!”

 

Father nods and closes the front door as Light and Matsuda walk to the carriage. As they go, Matsuda is all smiles.

 

“So, Light, how did it go last time?” he asks eagerly.

 

Light finds his lips curving into a smile. “It was…we had a really nice time, Matsuda.”

 

Matsuda beams. “I knew it! You didn’t hop right out of the carriage when we got back to your house. That’s _always_ a sign.” He says the last part as if he is some Courting expert.

 

“Is it?” Light asks. He’s still grinning. He’s going to look far too eager when L sees him but he can’t stop.

 

“Yes!” Matsuda exclaims. “It would be one thing if you were just going on your meetings with each other and spending your time and then leaving. It’s a whole other thing if you’re actually _dragging out_ the meetings. Showing up late on your _first_ _one_ , Light? Come on.”

 

“Matsuda, it’s not like we did that on purpose. And - ”

 

Matsuda goes on like Light hasn’t spoken a word. “It’s all so great. I had a good feeling about Mr. Lawliet right from the start. Remember? I knew you liked each other. And here is the proof.”

 

They reach the carriage, and Light can say nothing more on the subject, because L is stepping out. Matsuda winks at Light before hurrying over to the driver’s seat.

 

Light realizes that until now, he has not seen L in any sort of clothing that a Gentryman would consider special. It is only that L’s clothes have always _seemed_ special when compared to Light’s. But apparently L has been _casual_ up to now.

 

Light gulps.

 

L stands before him in a black legion vest, surely fitted by some outrageously expensive tailor. It leaves no doubt as to the breadth of L’s shoulders or the slenderness of his waist. There are silver filigreed patterns across the whole of it. He wears black breeches and black stockings and black, shining, buckled shoes. Everything he wears seems to shine. _He_ seems to shine.

 

“Hello, Light,” he says with a smile.

 

“Hello, L.” Light tears his eyes away and adjusts his rucksack on his shoulder. “I think I’m underdressed.”

 

“Nonsense,” L assures him. “You are a vision.”

 

Light looks up, ready to protest that his ego doesn’t need to be mollycoddled. But when he does, he sees that L is looking him over from head to toe, and there is something of the lion in his gaze.

 

 _Perhaps he really does mean it, then_ , Light thinks.

 

“Are you ready to leave?” L asks.

 

 _Just let me locate my knees and I’ll be all set_.

 

Light nods. L helps him into the carriage, then follows him inside. As before, they sit on opposite benches, facing each other. Matsuda starts them on their journey.

 

“It shall be a few hours to Golden Apple…I do hope you won’t mind if we make a stop on the way?” asks L.

 

“Not at all…where are we going?”

 

“The town cemetery,” L replies, with a wry expression.

 

Light blinks. Then he realizes. “You’re working?”

 

L makes a sound of assent. “I regret that such a place isn’t quite conducive to an atmosphere of Courting, but the timing could not be helped. My contact there is not at liberty to move about freely right now, and this morning is all that he has available.”

 

“It’s alright,” Light tells him. In truth, he has a great interest in detective work. It will be fascinating to see the inner workings of L’s profession. “Are you Ryuga Hideki to him as well?”

 

L grins. “Indeed, Light Asahi.”

 

Light nods. He can’t help but feel like a storybook character: off on a mission in disguise in order to gather intelligence on the enemy. “Is your case related to the death of the deputy mayor a few weeks ago?”

 

L goes completely still for a fraction of a second – only barely long enough for Light to tell. He recovers his composure with remarkable speed, but Light has already seen.

 

“I’ll take that as a yes. If I’m not to know the details, I understand. I was just curious,” Light says.

 

“Your parents do not know the extent of your cleverness, do they?” L asks searchingly.

 

Light truly doubts that they do. He has not much needed to show it to them, doing what he does. And since there is no need to put his mind on display, he does not, for fear of seeming proud. He shakes his head. “Something tells me that you do, though.”

 

“I’m beginning to,” L murmurs. “Well…there are a hundred different reasons that you ought not know the details of the investigation. And yet…”

 

He raises his thumb to his mouth, nibbling on the nail and rubbing it against his lips back and forth. It is oddly distracting.

 

“And yet,” L says, as if coming to a decision. “I have a mind to tell you that much, at least.”

 

Light puts his hands on the edge of the bench and leans forward.

 

“Yes. The case concerns the deputy mayor’s death, and others, as well.”

 

Light nods. It is not a surprise to him now, after all. “Are you in danger?” he asks.

 

L chuckles a bit. “It’s nothing I can’t handle.” He lowers his thumb.

 

Light takes a deep breath and tries his best to accept this answer, tries to accept L’s confidence as his own.

 

“Are you concerned for me?” L asks. His voice sounds playful.

 

Light answers with a question of his own. “What would you say if I said that I was?”

 

“I would say that I was a lucky man.”

 

There is a pause before Light can bring himself to say it. “Then consider yourself lucky, L.”

 

L smiles, and though it is childish, it is utterly charming.

 

Light feels the carriage make a right turn. The light inside the cabin becomes much dimmer. They are following a smaller road now, it seems, lined on both sides with huge trees, which block out the morning sunlight.

 

The darkness lends a strange air. Light can see some of L’s features, but not all. His eyes, in particular, are thrown into sharp relief.

 

“Light, I must tell you that any confession of yours will not be ill-received,” L says quietly. His voice sounds deeper somehow.

 

“I don’t think I take your meaning,” Light admits.

 

“Allow me to rephrase. Any regard you hold for me…I wish for you to know that any such regard is equaled on my part.”

 

Light’s heart flies into a thunderous rhythm. “Is it common for a Suitor to speak so boldly so soon?”

 

“I wouldn’t know,” L murmurs. “I may only know that which I bear witness to.”

 

“And you bear witness to regard for me?” Despite L’s assurances, Light fears a negative response. But he must ask anyway. For if L does not feel the crackle in the air between them as Light does….

 

“I do,” L replies, and his voice is deeper still.

 

A foreign warmth spreads through Light’s chest. He does not have the right words to answer L’s declaration. All the things he wishes he could convey with the elegance and the tranquility that L conveys them…they stopper his throat and leave his tongue barren.

 

He is no poet.

 

“I brought you breakfast….I thought you might have missed it, with the hour of our leaving. It isn’t much, but…” Light tells him. If his words are impotent, perhaps his actions will not be. He reaches for the rucksack and pulls out the biscuits and syrup. They are wrapped in a cloth napkin. Light holds it out.

 

“That was kind…thank you, Light,” L says. He takes the bundle. “I admit to some hunger.”

 

Suddenly, the carriage is again flooded with light. They are entering the cemetery proper, and hundreds upon hundreds of tombstones line the countryside.

 

Light’s grandparents, and great grandparents, are buried here. He has visited their gravesites several times over the course of his life. He had never known either set of his grandparents…his paternal grandmother had lived the longest, but passed away before Light had left the womb. Father tells him that he resembles her in his mannerisms. Because of this, he feels a certain kinship with her, despite their never meeting. Sometimes, Light wonders if she placed her hand on Mother’s swollen stomach as he was growing and felt him kick.

 

L is licking syrup from his fingers. “Shall I give my compliments to you or to Mistress Yagami?”

 

Light laughs. “To me, I suppose. I baked them this morning.”

 

“So, lets see…” L says idly, swallowing the last of his biscuit. “Light cooks, uncovers my detective work, my aliases, and does the planting, weeding, and harvesting for his family…are there any other activities I ought to be aware of?”

 

“He Courts you, too,” Light reminds him.

 

“Very true, Light…very true.”

 

* * *

 

The carriage rolls to a stop in front of a small funeral home near the back. Light can see his family’s church in the distance. It is the tallest building in town, with four spires rising into the sky like swords.

 

L makes no move to get out of the cabin.

 

His contact at the cemetery is the resident undertaker. The man says very little, and speaks very quietly. It seems difficult for him to make any sort of sustained eye contact. If he even notices that Light is in the carriage, he does not remark upon it. He dresses in black from head to toe.

 

“That’s all of it,” the man mutters as he slips a folded piece of paper through the window that L has opened for the purpose.

 

L unfolds the paper and scans it quickly. “Each and every movement?” he presses.

 

“All of it,” the man says. He twists his hat anxiously in his hands. “’S like clockwork, sir.”

 

“I see….” L murmurs, still reading the note. “Fascinating.”

 

“’S all you needed, Mr. Hideki?”

 

“That’s all…good work, my friend,” says L approvingly.

 

The man stammers an almost-silent reply, something like _my pleasure, sir_ before scurrying back into the funeral home.

 

L folds the paper once more and tucks it into his breast pocket. He looks at Light brightly. “Well, then, that’s that. Off to Golden Apple.”

 

“Not much for conversation, is he?” Light remarks.

 

“Hmm? No, not so much, I suppose. Prefers the dead to the living. Still, he is quite a useful individual.”

Light wonders what the note said, but he knows better than to ask. Before arriving here, he would have guessed that it listed details on the conditions of various murdered corpses. But after listening to L and the undertaker’s conversation, Light feels this is not truly the kind of information L was given. Or, if it is, that is not the whole of it.

 

* * *

 

They finish the journey to Golden Apple in a few hours’ time. Along the way, Light is surprised, and yet not, to realize that he still has things to say to L. He has not yet run out of conversation topics. This is unusual for him, as he generally has to rack his brain to find words to say to people. He is constantly shocked that some individuals seem to never run out of words, and talk and talk and talk throughout the day with anyone who crosses their path. But with L, Light is both loquacious and strangely eager for discussion.

 

And L is a person who does not avoid the sort of deeper subjects that Light enjoys discussing. They don’t have to resort to conversation about the weather to keep their talk moving. Instead, they discuss a whole range of things, from religion to philosophy to justice to ambition. L gets right to the heart of the matter in each instance, pointing the knife of his opinions into just the controversial space of it.

 

Light does not always agree with him. In fact, he frequently disagrees. L happens to be a believer (albeit a unconventional one) where Light is agnostic. Light espouses a drastically abbreviated opportunity for parole for convicted criminals whereas L believes that individuals have the capacity for genuine change. So it goes with various issues, each of them opposite sides of the same coin, but they trade worldviews as if trading cards in a game, with a genuine desire to win but no incivility between them.

 

Light has the frightening thought that perhaps L is a person who could never bore him.

 

When they reach Golden Apple, Light can see the orchards L mentioned in his letter. There are gentle rolling hills to the fields, and the trees are planted into neat lines, stretching out to the horizon as far as the eye can see. The spring has brought white flowers to their branches and a sweet fragrance to the air. Light watches out the window as the trees go by, looking like a sea of life upon land.

 

“It is picturesque, is it not?” L asks, watching Light watching the orchards.

 

“It’s beautiful,” Light says, almost to himself.

 

L makes a agreeable _mmm_ sound.

 

Suddenly a large sign comes into Light’s view. There is a white arrow painted on it and the words “Golden Apple Garden Dance” as well.

 

“We’re almost there, guys!” Matsuda calls out from the front.

 

They turn a corner and suddenly a huge clearing comes into view, roped off tidily with red flags. There is a large crowd milling about on the grass inside it, too far away yet for Light to see exactly what they are doing. There is a booth of some kind in the distance, seeming to serve as an entrance, as a long line of people extends from it.

 

“There is quite a turnout,” L says approvingly. “Nothing better for disguise than the cloak of several hundred strangers.”

 

Light realizes that L is right. Though Light does not enjoy crowds, this one gives him a strange sort of comfort, because it is composed entirely of people who don’t know him. He is free from the prying eyes of neighbors, who no doubt whisper about Light Yagami’s shocking Match to – and subsequent Courting of - the Gentryman from Silver Hills.

 

“That’s true…” Light agrees. “No one here will ever see me again, most likely.”

 

The knowledge is more intoxicating than it ought to be.

 

Light can hear, faintly, the strains of something lovely being played.

 

L can hear it, too. He smiles with a private, fond sort of air. “I do enjoy this waltz,” he says.

 

Light does not know it, but it calls to mind a feeling of such tenderness…

 

The carriage comes to a stop in a lot filled with others. L steps out and helps Light out as well. It is nearly noon now…the sun hangs high overhead. The music is louder now that they are outside of the cabin. Intermingled through the notes are the sounds of happy chatter from the partygoers. A couple holding hands passes them by, laughing and hastening to the entrance.

 

Matsuda holds a pail of oats and one of water to each of the horses in turn. “I’ll see you guys when you’re ready to head back!” he says cheerfully.

 

“There is really no reason for you to stay behind, Mr. Matsuda,” L tells him. “Come inside. I insist.”

 

Matsuda’s eyes go wide and his jaw drops slightly. “I don’t really…I mean…you don’t have to -”

 

“There will be plenty inside to occupy you, I assure you,” L says. His words have a certain authority. Matsuda obeys, finishing up with the horses. When he is done, L turns to Light.

 

“Shall we?” he asks, offering Light his arm.

 

Light nods, taking a deep breath and steeling himself. His hand fits perfectly into the crook of L’s elbow. There is a kind of illicit thrill in their contact, even though nothing in the Courtship rules forbids it.

 

They set off at a gentle pace to the entrance. Matsuda follows behind, talking about everything he sees.

 

“All the carriages are so nice here! Not as nice as yours, of course, Mr. Lawliet, but better than at home! And look at all the people in their dresses and their suits!”

 

L and Light make the appropriate responses in between Matsuda’s comments, looking at each other and subtly grinning at his enthusiasm. All around them, everyone seems to be enjoying themselves: laughing and talking excitedly about the music, the dancing, the food, the perfection of the weather. Their clothing is indeed finer than what one would see in Light’s town on a typical day. It is an infectious atmosphere.

 

Light sees that no one’s eyes linger at the sight of him on L’s arm. No whispers follow them.

 

Light automatically walks toward the end of the line but L leads him away, to the front.

 

“I am not in the habit of waiting,” he murmurs into Light’s ear, by way of explanation. His voice is a low timbre…rich like chocolate and twice as sinful. Light’s skin breaks out into a thousand goose bumps.

 

L produces three blue cards from nowhere and holds them up briefly at the attendant in the entrance booth. The attendant, a boy of no more than fifteen, nods once and waves them on. They pass through the entryway and into the clearing.  

 

“ _Wooowwww_ ,” says Matsuda. He makes an impressed-sounding whistle.

 

“Think nothing of it, Mr. Matsuda,” L says. “Now then, Light and I shall be -”

 

But just what L had been planning right then, Light does not hear. Matsuda inhales sharply, whether in alarm or simple surprise, Light is not sure. He walks forward, ahead of L and Light, and points ahead.

 

“That’s got to be the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen,” he says, quietly and full of awe. It is so unlike the way Matsuda usually talks that Light can hardly believe it is really him speaking.

 

There is a woman ahead of them, blonde and petite, in a lacy, tight-fitting pink dress. It is more revealing than one usually sees…cut intricately so that it hangs off of her shoulders and short enough to show off her knees. She is talking to a small group of men and women, animated and smiling hugely.

 

“Ah, is that so, Mr. Matsuda?” L asks. Light turns to look at him and sees a smirk dancing across his lips.

 

 _He knows her_ , Light realizes.

 

“She’s _gorgeous_ ,” Matsuda whispers. He stands there spellbound.

 

“Shall I introduce you?” inquires L casually. “Perhaps put a good word in for you?”

 

Matsuda whirls around. “No! What would I even say to her?? She’s…and I’m…”

 

“Look sharp, Mr. Matsuda,” L says, amused. He is staring over Matsuda’s shoulder. “She approaches.”

 

Matsuda gasps, then curses. L laughs and wears his mirth in his eyes.

 

The lady is not just approaching; she is running toward them with a startling excitement. She bypasses Matsuda and goes straight for L, hugging him on sight and exclaiming in a girlish voice, “Ryuga! I saw your carriage as you arrived!”

 

L does not hug her back and nor does he pull his arm from Light. But he does not seem annoyed with the girl either. Really, he mirrors the attitude of a parent with a misbehaving but persistently cute toddler. He smiles at Light and lifts one shoulder in a _what can one do?_ sort of way. Light wonders if Matsuda will blow L’s cover at any moment or if he’s too smitten to even realize that the girl is calling him by another name.

 

“Hello, Misa,” he says when she pulls away. “I did not expect to find you here.”

 

“At a garden dance? Silly Ryuga, you’re so funny,” the lady says. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world!”

 

“Light…Mr. Matsuda…allow me to introduce Miss Misa Amane,” L says.

 

“Pleased to meet you,” Light recites respectfully, bowing.

 

“P-pleased to meet you, Miss Amane,” Matsuda copies, uncharacteristically stammering.

 

“So _this_ is Light Yagami, Ryuga?” Miss Amane says eagerly. “He’s so cute! You’re lucky you snagged him up before I could have a chance at him!” She speaks with a complete lack of shame, giggling.

 

“Finders keepers, Misa,” says L flatly.

 

Miss Amane giggles again. “Yes, yes, Ryuga, it’s plain that he’s taken. And that he goes for genius types anyway.”

 

Light’s brain comes to a screeching halt. _Who_ is _this woman?_

 

“But your friend Mr. Matsuda, here,” Miss Amane continues, looking at Matsuda appraisingly. “I can’t quite tell.”

 

Matsuda coughs and manages to say, “J-just Matsuda, please, Miss. H-how do you know Light’s Suitor?”

 

“Ryuga? We’re friends! And I help him with work sometimes. You know,” Miss Amane’s voice drops to a whisper. “ _Undercover detective stuff_.”

 

L rolls his eyes. He says quietly to Light, “Really, she’s a much better agent than she seems in this moment.”

 

“How do you know Ryuga?” Miss Amane asks brightly.

 

 _This is it_ thinks Light. _This is where L’s cover is blown_.

 

But Matsuda ends up surprising him.

 

“Well,” Matsuda says, scratching the back of his neck and laughing nervously. “He hired me as his driver…plus, I chaperone he and Light’s Courtship.”

 

Light understands Matsuda’s nervousness. Miss Amane is clearly upper-classed: if not Gentry, than part of the middle classes at least. Her dress alone would cost a small fortune. Matsuda revealing that he is a Gentryman’s driver means that he is revealing he is lowborn. And this means that the chances of Misa Amane becoming involved with him automatically drop to near zero. The upper classes do not mix with the lower classes romantically. L is the only upperclassman Light knows of who has even considered it.

 

“Oh, how neat! So you get to see Ryuga off on his meetings with Light!” Miss Amane laughs prettily. “You simply have to tell me _all_ about it.”

 

And with that, she takes Matsuda’s arm and pulls him in the direction of a huge tower of champagne flutes in the distance.

 

Light is baffled.

 

“You grow accustomed to it, after a few meetings,” says L dryly, reading Light’s expression.

 

* * *

 

 

“Misa ought to keep Mr. Matsuda entertained,” L says as he and Light walk. They remain arm-in-arm and see a hundred different points of interest. There are the champagne flutes stacked into impressive towers…the tables laden with arrays of food…the orchestra playing instruments Light has never seen before. The musicians sit in wooden folding chairs placed into a semicircle. The semicircle goes back several chairs deep.

 

“How did you meet her?” asks Light.

 

“She was actually a suspect in an investigation some years ago. In the end, she was cleared, of course. But the experience gave me the insight that a dress model could be useful in certain circumstances. She is quite skilled in lowering the guards of businessmen who have something to hide, for example. And over the years, we have maintained something of a rapport. I think she finds me curious.” L says all this with a careless kind of air. “Ah, look…they have éclairs.”

 

Light nods. “And she only knows you by the name Ryuga?”  


“Yes…only family knows my true name. Grandfather, and now you. And your family, of course.”

 

“That’s quite a lot of trust to put in me…you gave me your real name before we had even met.”

 

“Admittedly, I did quite a lot of research before making my Offer letter to your father,” L explains. “It cannot hurt to be cautious.”

 

Light agrees. “But what if your research didn’t reveal everything? What if I were a serial killer or something?”

 

Bewilderingly, L shrugs. “I felt confident. I still do. But even if I were to be wrong…well, there are certain safeguards in place. And beyond that…what is life without a bit of risk?”

 

 _Stable?_ thinks Light.

 

A new song begins…something light and timid at first, which swells into a beautiful, joyful melody.

 

“Shall we dance?” asks L. He holds out his hand, palm up for Light’s.

 

Light has never danced before.

 

“I don’t know the steps,” he confesses. He hates admitting inadequacy.

 

“I shall lead,” L tells him. “Don’t fret…everyone has a first time.”

 

Light can accept this logic. But some part of him still rebels against the idea of being led. Light has always taken care of himself, for as long as he can remember. He has not needed assistance and he doesn’t wish it, either.

 

“It will be fine, Light,” L says mildly. “Trust me.”

 

Light searches his eyes. Trust is not something he can give with any ease. In fact, it would be easier for Light to give up his pinky toe.

 

But he recognizes that his life as it was and his life as it will be are two different things. If he is to be married…if he is to ensure that his family is taken care of…he must accept that a certain amount of trust is unavoidable. What will he do? Sleep with one eye open every night? Live his life with a constant need to look over his shoulder? Their marriage would never work that way, and why would Light want it to? L is an upstanding gentleman and has shown him nothing but generosity. Perhaps it is time for Light to give him something in return.

 

“Alright,” he agrees. His hand slips into L’s.

 

L smiles. He walks them into the open space where many other couples are twirling about. Light can see their footwork fall in time to the music but he cannot figure out exactly how this is established.

 

L stands directly in front of him. He takes Light’s left hand and lays it on his own right arm, just below the shoulder. L’s right hand falls somewhere along Light’s back. They are in closer proximity to each other than they ever have been before. Then L takes Light’s right hand in his left, holding it up elegantly.

 

The difference in their heights is not quite what it would be if Light were a woman, but even so, Light has to look up slightly to meet L’s eyes. He hopes fervently that L cannot feel the trembling in his fingers.

 

“The key is counting,” L murmurs. Something about his voice has Light’s stomach feeling like a weight of melted toffee has settled there. “Every waltz is measured out into threes.”

 

Light nods, listening closely.

 

“ _One_ , two, three…over and over, you see. The _one_ is the most important.” L continues. He stresses each _one_ as he says it.

 

“What must I do?” Light asks.

 

“With every count, we step,” says L. “When I move, you move. As long as you remain close to me, all will be well.”

 

 _As long as you remain close to me, all will be well._ Light is unnerved by how easy that is to believe. He nods. All words escape him. There is not enough space between them. And at the same time, there is too much.

 

“Alright,” L says, holding his gaze. Light sees his Adam’s apple bob. “We begin.”

 

Light is stiff, at first. He may have resolved, in his mind, to allow L to lead, but his feet have not seemed to receive the message. He knows he is not moving as the music bids him to, which only serves to make him more self-conscious.

 

“ _One_ , two, three, _one_ , two, three,” L is murmuring, counting aloud surely for Light’s benefit. They move in more or less the same formation as the other couples but Light can tell that something is missing.

 

He takes a deep breath and wills himself to concentrate.

 

“This will sound terribly conceited of me,” says L. “But try your best to focus on me. You will follow more easily if I am your center, and not yourself.”

 

Light exhales. Of course L realized there was a problem with Light’s footwork. L always has to understand everything so damned well.

 

He looks up from watching their feet and looks at L instead. His eyes hold Light’s gaze with a steady evenness…his arm, under Light’s palm, is lined with wiry muscle….his back is strong and firm. There is nothing in him to betray any unease or uncertainty.

 

_How can such a person be real?_

 

Why did Light have to spend his days in isolation, in mental seclusion, while someone like this walked the earth? _So much time wasted_ , Light thinks. If he had known that the possibility of an equal companion existed, he would have grown up in hope, not resignation.

 

 _No…_ his mind insists. _Not resignation. Loneliness._

Light is only now understanding the meaning of the word, though he has lived through it all his life. Always he was alone, compartmentalized and tucked away, to appease the public’s notion of what a young man ought to be. And always he would tell himself that he was alone but not lonely. But he was. Whether he accepted it or not. And now….now he is…something else. The opposite of lonely.

 

“ _That’s_ it,” says L approvingly.

 

He realizes their movements come easier…Light feels himself gliding, instead of stepping.

 

He laughs, feeling foolish but also inexplicably delighted. The music surrounds them, bright and full and bursting with emotion. And they dance to match it – bright and full and taking up more space than before.

 

“Light has misled me,” L tells him. “Surely this is not his first attempt at a waltz.”

 

“I promise you, L, it is,” Light insists.

 

“Hmmm…so, the first dance you’ve given to me. Am I to have the last, as well?”

 

“We are to be married, L,” Light reminds him. “Surely you can’t think that I would be dancing with others, can you?”

 

“Others would surely want you to,” L says. Light can’t tell whether L is teasing again or if he genuinely suspects that Light would be untrue. “Light is very nice-looking.”

 

They waltz the full circle of the dancing grass and continue on.

 

“So are you,” Light says, forcing his tone into something nonchalant. He is not a bashful flower and he can compliment L just as boldly as L compliments him. “Does that mean I ought to suspect that you’ll be off at garden dances with someone else?”

 

L laughs a little. “Certainly not.”

 

Light nods firmly. “And the same goes for me. Certainly you are to have the last dance.”

 

“I see,” says L. His voice brightens with it.

 

They dance through several more songs…Light cannot keep track of how many. They run together in his mind like sand into an hourglass.

 

“L…what made you choose me?” he asks. The clearing around them seems to turn in circles as they dance, even though Light knows it is he and L that are turning. “You said you had seen me when I didn’t know you were looking, but I’ve yet to hear the full story.”

 

“Ahhhh,” L says, as if the memory is a favorite one of his. “Yes, that’s true. Well…here it is.”

 

He relates a tale of Light’s past that Light himself can scarcely recall. Apparently, one day recently, during church fellowship, L saw Light give a sandwich to a child dressed in little more than rags.

 

“She was destitute, and unkempt…surely one of the poorest children in the town,” L says. “And you were not rich yourself. But you were kind to her anyway, when others weren’t. I could see that you must have been tired and hungry yourself, but you gave her all that you had, and you did it without hesitation.”

 

“Surely any decent person would have done the same,” Light protests.

 

“Surely,” agrees L. “But decency is hard to come by, in my line of work.”

 

Light sees what L means by that. But he is still skeptical. “And you decided you wanted to marry me, based on that alone?”

 

“Light, you must understand. I am wealthy in large part because others are not. I am fortunate not because I am worth more than any other person, but because of a combination of luck and intelligence. And everywhere I go, no matter the country, no matter the season, I see _so much sin_.”

 

L turns Light in a wide, graceful circle.

 

“And Grandfather was encouraging me to remarry…he has always feared that I would be permanently alone, once he passed on. And I reasoned that if I were to marry again, I ought to do it this time with a person whom I actually found intriguing. Someone worthy, someone whose life I could make better, but also someone who…who could remind me of why I do what I do in the first place. Else, I fear the work would drive me mad. I can envision myself forgoing sleep, picking up peculiar habits, consuming only _Willows_ confectionary to make up for the bitter taste of criminality that lays constantly in my mouth.”

 

L says this last with humor, but Light takes his every word seriously. He can easily see the kind of picture L paints. How could one man truly cope with an endless parade of the world’s evil?

 

“And I am that person, you think?” asks Light.

 

“I think it more with every passing day,” L tells him. The music softens tenderly, as if to match the candor of the moment.

 

Light gives him a smile, and dances that much closer.

 

* * *

 

 

They continue for some time…Light’s muscles grow tired, but he fights the feeling. It is remarkable that they have come together this way, and he doesn’t want to let it go.

 

“Mind if I cut in, Ryuga?” comes a small female voice from behind Light. He recognizes it as Misa Amane’s. He and L turn in the dance and there she stands, waiting expectantly.

 

“Your timing, Misa, leaves much to be desired,” L remarks sardonically. He steps away from Light nonetheless. Light feels his absence more keenly than he should.

 

“I’m in your debt!” Miss Amane says cheerfully to him, as she steps up to Light. Light realizes he will have to dance the entire waltz backward as she takes up the same position he held with L. He quickly adjusts to the new posture.

“I shall meet you again near the champagne, Light,” L tells him. His hands are stuffed into the pockets of his breeches and he slouches ever so slightly as he wanders away. Light watches him weave in and out of the other couples dancing, until he disappears entirely from view.

 

“Ahem,” Miss Amane coughs politely. Light realizes he has been ignoring her.

 

“Excuse me, Miss,” he apologizes, beginning the dance again. He finds that the steps are not so hard to remember.

 

“That’s alright,” she says easily. “You and Ryuga are just alike. Always thinking too much.”

 

Light refrains from saying anything to this, but he privately feels that there is no such thing. Miss Amane’s small stature feels out of place in his arms.

 

“He’s really very nice, once you get past that dry sense of humor of his,” she continues.

 

 _I like his humor_ , Light argues in his mind.

 

“And he’s actually much more generous with his money than all of his fine things would have you believe,” she says matter-of-factly.

 

“Is that so?” asks Light, purely for the sake of maintaining conversation. _Why is she telling me this? Why is she here at all?_

“Oh yes. Very much so. Like giving a job to your friend Matsuda! He’s very nice, by the way. A little shy, but that’s okay. There are too many forward men in this world as it is. Like this one time, a few years ago? I swear I had a stalker! This guy wouldn’t leave me alone! He was always dropping by my house and sending me letters and finding me in the market or at some other such place and….”

 

She carries on in this vein for quite some time, chatting incessantly. Light tunes her out, paying only enough attention to nod and mumble “you don’t say” at the appropriate times.

 

“You know, Mr. Yagami, Ryuga and I have been friends for a long time,” Miss Amane says. “There’s never been anything between us, of course, but he’s special to me.”

 

“He’s a good man,” Light tells her. _Nothing I didn’t already know._

 

“Quite a good one, yes. You see, he caught my parents’ murderer.”

 

Miss Amane’s footwork doesn’t falter when she says this, but Light’s does.

 

“Careful there,” she tells him.

 

“My apologies, Miss,” he says quickly and corrects himself.

 

“Not to worry. But yes…he caught them when nobody else could. Oh, other people tried, certainly. I remember all the headlines in the newspapers. ‘Dress Model, Miss Misa Amane, Tragically Orphaned. Murderer Still at Large.’ I was still living back in Fourtrees at the time. All these policehands and constables and sheriffs all tried to catch the man who did it. But none of them could. And when Ryuga took the case, he caught him in three days.”

 

Light can well believe her story. He wonders if L had been moved to take the case because he was an orphan himself, or if it was irrelevant to his motivations. Or if he wasn’t yet orphaned back then.

 

“I’m very sorry for your loss,” Light says.

 

“Thank you. I didn’t meet him then, of course, but anyone would want to meet their hero! So then I had to make myself look suspicious so that he would interrogate me next! And once he realized how crafty I really was, he started letting me work with him sometimes.”

 

When the music winds down, she steps away from Light and curtsies.

 

“Thank you for the dance, Mr. Yagami,” she says politely. In the same courteous little voice, she follows this up with, “And just so you know, if you break Ryuga’s heart, I’ll kill you.”

 

Light nearly chokes. “E-excuse me?”

 

“You heard me,” Miss Amane replies sweetly. Despite her girlish appearance, Light feels he has a reason to take her seriously. “Well, you shouldn’t keep him waiting now! Have a good time, okay? Oh, and I definitely recommend the cherry pie – Ryuga loves cherries. Thanks again for the dance!”

 

And then she waves and hurries on her way, through the crowd and out of sight.

 

Light feels frozen in place before he physically shakes his head, clearing it of the past half hour.

 

_What an odd girl._

Now, he must find L.

 

***

It turns out that L is just where he said he would be: next to the champagne, and drinking from a flute of it. People mingle in small groups all around him, sometimes walking to and fro, but L stands out from them all.

 

Light would have dearly loved to come upon him unawares and startle him, but L is too observant for his plan to work. He sees Light approaching from fifty paces away. He takes a second glass of champagne from the table and is holding it out to Light before Light is even next to him.

 

“Has irreparable damage been done?” he asks as soon as Light reaches him. “Am I to remain a widower forevermore?”

 

Light laughs, taking the champagne from L and sipping it. He finds that he is incredibly thirsty. “She’s…definitely something.”

 

“Oh dear,” L murmurs.

 

“L, honestly, it’s fine,” Light assures him. He lays a hand on L’s elbow and catches his eyes. “She’s a good friend to you.”

 

“Hmmm,” is all that L says to that.

 

“Have you been keeping yourself entertained, then?” asks Light.

 

“As well as can be expected in your absence,” L answers. “Which is to say, not at all.”

 

Light grins. “Well now that you have me here, what will you do with me?”

 

L opens his mouth to speak but closes it right back again. Light wishes very much to know what he would have said. But his manners are too deeply instilled in him to ask. If someone chooses not to say something, they must have a reason not to, and it is only courtesy to let them hold their peace.

 

Then L asks, quite plainly, “are you hungry?”

 

* * *

 

They take plates from one of the heavily laden tables…everything in sight is something that can be eaten by hand, probably a purposeful choice on the chef’s behalf. Crisped chicken and potato wedges and apple slices and lettuce leafs serving as small boats for finely shredded carrot and cabbage.

 

There are also huge cups of lemonade, sweet and tangy all at once.

 

Light takes a slice of the cherry pie, for L’s benefit. Light doesn’t care for cherries.

 

“While Misa had your time monopolized,” says L wryly, holding his plate and cup. “I arranged for something a bit more relaxing for lunch.”

 

Light finds it extraordinary to see a Gentryman carrying his own food. “Oh?”

 

L uses his chin to indicate a large apple tree to the South of the dancing grass. It is a bit removed from the rest of the festivities but is still in plain view of the public. There is a blanket spread out underneath its branches. “Just over there,” he says.

 

Somehow, the sight reminds Light of the time that L told him that, on the inside, Light believes in love.

 

_You’re a romantic, Light, even if you don’t realize that yourself._

 

“…is it not to your liking?” L asks, staring at Light. “We needn’t be there if you prefer otherwise.”

 

Light realizes that some measure of the terror he feels must have shown on his face. He covers it with an easy smile.

 

“No no…it’s perfection, L,” he says reassuringly.

 

His smile is a genuine one. Light _is_ pleased.

 

That’s what scares him.

 

* * *

 

The blanket is both soft and sturdy, keeping the dew from the grass at bay. L sits on one corner of it, with his knees pulled up to his chest, munching on apple slices. In the interest of propriety, Light has chosen the opposite corner. He crosses his legs and sits with his back straight as he eats.

 

“So, Light…” L says, in between bites. “How do you find Golden Apple?”

 

Light considers his words. “Lovely,” he finally replies.

 

“It is beautiful, isn’t it?”

 

Light nods. “There is so much _space_ here. I feel as if…” Light realizes what he is saying and cuts himself off.

 

“As if what?” asks L.

 

Light takes a deep breath and lets it go. “As if I can really breathe here.”

 

“The townspeople seem not to be as involved in their neighbor’s affairs as in Autumn Pass, yes?”

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Light says fervently. “We haven’t been stared at once the whole time we’ve been here. I don’t know why everyone cares so much about every one else’s private lives back home but they _do_ and it’s so…it’s so…”

 

“Invasive,” says L.

 

“Yes. And so completely pointless. Is it so much to ask for a bit of privacy?”

 

L licks a stray bit of apple juice off of his fingers. “Do you wish you had more, without a place to call your own in your parents’ house?”

 

Light shrugs. “Whether I do or not won’t change things….it’s really not so bad. There are many more people in the world worse off than me.”

 

“This is true,” L murmurs. More apple juice slides down to his wrist and L’s tongue follows its path. “But it is not as though Light is undeserving.”

 

Light laughs a little. “Well…thank you.”

 

“Speaking of your parents,” says L. “Are we to have a date for the Match Celebration soon?”

 

“As to that,” Light begins. “I’m not really…”

 

L’s tongue is curling around his thumb.

 

Light’s train of thought escapes him. He fights to get it back. “That is, I…”

 

“Yes?” L prompts him. His lips glisten with fruit juice.

 

Light’s mouth waters.

 

“You were saying, Light?” L prompts him again.

 

 _Get it together, Yagami_ , he tells himself sternly.

 

“I’m not really sure yet,” he finishes, lamely.

 

L nods. “That’s alright…do let me know when a date is set. Grandfather quite enjoyed dinner with your family and is looking forward to seeing them again.”

 

Light smiles. “They look forward to seeing him again as well.”

 

They eat the rest of their lunch in a peaceful silence. The sunshine filters through the branches overhead and patches of it fall all around them. There is such a rightness about being with L this way. Light can imagine them decades from now, visiting this spot again, discussing how young they both were, and how nervous. Light will tell L how well he hid his apprehension and L will make a confession that even back then, he had a fervent desire to break all manner of Courtship rules.

 

…that is, if L _has_ any nerves or desire to confess.

 

Light looks over at him, wondering how best to puzzle this out. If he even _can_ puzzle it out. There was that moment in the carriage when he felt that maybe…just maybe…

 

But L could easily have meant simple companionship when mentioned his regard for Light. How is Light to know, without coming right out and asking?

 

L reclines on the blanket, flat on his back. He folds his hands behind his head, eyes sliding closed, but Light knows that he won’t go to sleep.

 

He is _so_ beautiful. Light feels it is unfair, really, that the universe has put something so tempting so close to him and then made it impossible for him to do anything about the temptation.

 

Then, an unbidden thought comes into Light’s mind: _But that will all change after the wedding._

Unbidden, but not unwelcome.

 

Light swallows, knowing he staring openly but unable to stop.

 

Yes…not unwelcome.

 

“The waltzes are tiring, are they not?” L murmurs, eyes still closed. “You are free to join me, if you wish.”

 

Light’s heart thumps heavily. _Do I dare?_

 

He supposes that nothing in the Courtship rules forbids it. And really, everyone can see them from their place here. It isn’t improper, not really.

 

It just feels that way, given the nature of Light’s earlier thoughts.

 

Slowly, carefully, Light lies back, matching L’s posture and laying next to him. He closes his eyes against the rays of sunlight overhead. They aren’t touching, not at all, not at any point. But Light still feels something there, in the space between them. The knowledge that they _could_ touch, perhaps, and exactly how, and exactly why.

 

Birds chirp every now again…the orchestra plays on, blissful melody after blissful melody.

 

Light turns his head to the right and sees L’s profile, sharp and strong and stunning.

 

At that moment, as if sensing that he is being watched, L opens his eyes and turns to face Light. They stare at each other. They are close enough that Light fancies he could be breathing L’s breath.

 

But they are not touching, not at any point.

 

“Is something the matter, Light?”

 

Light is hesitant to say. He reminds himself that L is good. That L will not abuse the knowledge if he gives it. He reminds himself that the marriage depends on trust.

 

Light is brave.

 

“I don’t want this day to end,” he confesses.

 

L turns onto his side, propping his head up on his left hand. He looks upon Light with a singular focus. Gently, slowly, he reaches out with his right hand. His fingertips brush Light’s cheek in a touch that is very like a whisper.

 

“Nor I,” he says.

 

 _Oh no,_ thinks Light. _Oh no._

_I’m doomed._

 

* * *

 

They leave Golden Apple some time later, in the late afternoon. Miss Amane waves them off, Matsuda blushing and stammering his goodbyes. Light wonders when he shall see the town again. He realizes he will miss it until he returns.

 

When the carriage comes to a stop in front of Light’s house, L retrieves a small stack of books from under his seat. Light can make out most of the titles, at least, though two are unreadable. He recognizes one as a very famous work of literature.

 

“A Study in Scarlet?” he asks, reading the words printed on the spine.

 

“A detective’s library surely would be incomplete without Sherlock Holmes,” L explains. “There is a bit of everything here, really…varying levels of difficulty as well. Do tell me if you find anything enjoyable, or helpful to your reading.”

 

L holds out the novels. Light takes them carefully, tucking them against his chest with one arm, aware of how expensive each one must have been. Books, especially long novels, are painstaking to write and copy and print and bind.

 

“Thank you…” Light says softly. “Very much.”

 

“Think nothing of it,” L says.

 

“No…truly. Thank you.”

 

A pause. Then, “You are welcome, Light.”

 

Light looks out the carriage window. A few candles still burn inside the house, it seems.

 

“And thank you for today,” he says. If he is in for a penny, he is in for a pound, so he might as well press onward. “I can’t remember when I’ve had a better time.”

 

L smiles. “I can only wish that tomorrow were not too soon a time to call upon you again.”

 

Light laughs. “My father might become suspicious at the frequency of our meetings.”

 

“A shame,” says L.

 

Light nods. “It really is.”

 

“Surely he cannot fault me for a letter or two, in the meantime?”

 

“I can’t see how he could,” says Light. “How much trouble is there to be found in a letter, after all?”

 

“Indeed,” remarks L. He takes Light’s hand, pressing a kiss to it. “Expect one from me soon, then.”

 

“I will.” Light agrees. “Goodnight, L.”

 

“Goodnight, Light.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Full disclosure, the phrase “the opposite of lonely” I remember having seen or read somewhere before, but I can’t remember where now! If anyone knows, please do let me know so proper credit can be given!
> 
> Thank you all for reading! All of the positivity this fic has garnered has been surprising and so humbling! I do hope it continues now that Misa has been introduced. She won’t be a major character by any means, but this will not be her only appearance. I confess that I really wanted to explore what it would be like if L had Misa’s loyalty instead of Light having it. Based on the anime canon, I don’t find it all that hard to see the two of them striking up a real friendship.
> 
> A note on characterization: 
> 
> This L is less paranoid about his identity being revealed because this world does not include the sort of instantaneous and ubiquitous communication that ours does. In the Death Note canon, if L walks out in the street, somebody’s camera phone could snatch a photo of him in a heartbeat. In this world, not so much. So he is freer to make personal contact with other people and even to strike up friendships. (Though he isn’t a social person, by any means.) Also, the amount of crimes that occur on a mass scale here is far less than the amount that occur in the Death Note canon. Things like automatic weapons, atomic bombs, etc, do not exist in this world. So while L is exposed to great horrors, he is not quite so…melancholy…as he seems in the canon. 
> 
> This Light, by contrast, is more introverted. Well, not more introverted, but less skilled in his interactions with people. He spends most of his day alone at his parents’ farm, essentially. He hasn’t needed to attend school in years, and that means no daily interactions with “peers.” So if he seems shyer and more anxious about socialization, this is why. His intelligence is there (I hope that is shown in the story) but he is not accustomed to exercising it with any sort of zeal (yet). Genius expresses itself in direct proportion to a society’s needs, I believe. This is why we have “no more” Mozarts or Beethovens. It isn’t like our people are all somehow worse at classical composition than they were centuries ago. It is simply that our society doesn’t demand classical music the way that it used to be demanded. We demand better smartphones and faster Internet speeds, so our geniuses express themselves as Steve Jobs and Bill Gates have done. Since Light isn’t competing for top To-oh student OR exercising his moral will as Kira while trying to evade capture, he simply isn’t pushed to get his genius out into the world (yet). 
> 
> I hope that in both cases, you are able to see how L and Light WOULD be like this if they had been born into this AU’s world.
> 
> As always, please do share your responses to this chapter! I love reading every single reaction I get. ☺ 
> 
> BC3, you’re still putting out the most helpful plot points for this thing and I can’t thank you enough. Really. 
> 
> The next chapter is already in progress!
> 
> \- Magic


	8. Chapter Eight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which Light narrowly escapes different forms of danger.

_Light,_

_I have a riddle for you. How many men from Autumn Pass does it take to bewitch a detective’s mind?_

_I shall give you a clue: the number is less than two and greater than zero._

_For while I puzzle out the inner workings of elaborate murder plots, I find my thoughts branching out into a second vein – the chandeliers of Cheval Blanc and the softness of their light. A perfect, golden glow in twilight, sprinkled in amongst white tablecloths and the fragrance of braised venison. And my thoughts turn to the perfection of what two Lights there could be._

_Shall we go there, you and I?_

_Mr. Matsuda has agreed to exchange correspondence between us every other day. He seemed to be thrilled when I requested that he make our post more frequent. He seems thrilled, on second thought, when any interaction between us is discussed._

_Your Suitor,_

_L_

* * *

_L,_

_You play your part too well. I cannot believe that any other Suitor in our country could match your poetry. Or is this a skill regularly taught to those of high birth? Perhaps you have been instructed by a grandfatherly Casanova, somewhere during your Schoolhouse days, in the art of plucking up young men from Autumn Pass like they were roses on a stem?_

_Cheval Blanc…you mustn’t feel obligated to Court me in places such as those. If I am to enjoy your company, I shall enjoy it no matter the setting. And I have – whether on a blanket in the grass or inside your fine carriage. It is gracious of you to offer such a place, but the expense is not necessary._

_I must impress upon you the appreciation I have for your request, however. It is generous in the extreme._

_Truth be told, while Matsuda has always been enthusiastic about life in general, he seems particularly keen on our Courtship. Our marriage, actually. And so far, I have no reason to distrust this opinion. Or to disagree with it._

_Your Match,_

_Light_

* * *

_  
_

_Light,_

_Have you ever considered that I may simply want_ _to attend Cheval Blanc with you, out of a selfish desire on my own part, instead of generosity?_

_Allow me some hint of bluntness, so that I may make my meaning clear:_

_I find you worthy of diamonds, of jewels, of gold and silver, and the entirety of my manor. Why then should I not find you worthy of an elegant dinner? By your own admission, the enjoyment of my company is not dependent on the setting of our time together. Therefore, it stands to reason that if you enjoy my company elsewhere, you will enjoy it in a place such as Cheval Blanc. As I will enjoy yours. And if you will allow me yet more bluntness, I will say that I find the idea of your image bathed in the warm light of chandeliers at dusk to be an immensely appealing one._

_If this is too blunt for you, we may strike it from the record. But please, I must ask you to accept my assurances in this area. I feel no obligation when I make this suggestion. What I feel is quite, quite selfish. _

_Your Suitor,_

_L_

* * *

_L,_

_You have robbed me of words._

_…I suppose that I may allow you to make amends for this theft by escorting me to an alarmingly expensive restaurant._

_Your Match,_

_Light_

_P.S. – I’m beginning to wonder if you catch your criminals by charming them into giving confessions. Your skill in persuasion is terrifying._

* * *

Sunday again, and another day spent in church. The church is the largest building in town (L’s manor is the only other place Light can think of to rival it in size). The outside walls are painted white, while the tips of its four spires are a deep grey color. Inside, the congregation gathers in one huge room. The ceilings are high and the floors are made of a dark wood paneling, which is unforgiving during prostrated position. There are no chairs, no benches, except for the few in the elder’s corner.

 

The only carpet to be found is in the middle of the room, on the raised, circular platform there. There is a large table on it, forming an altar. Everyone kneels around the altar at the end of church services to receive the communal wine. Well…not entirely communal. Each parishioner gets a small ceramic cup when the wine is handed out.

 

Prayer is almost over. Light is folded into prostrated position: knees tucked under his chest, hands on either side of his head, head to the floor. It makes breathing deeply a difficult task, and always, when he rises, he feels lightheaded. Sayu is to his left and Mother and Father are just beyond her. He often wonders if everyone else in the congregation is truly praying, as they say they are.

 

From time to time, Light does pray. His agnosticism fluctuates along a continuum. Sometimes, he finds it fairly possible that higher powers exist. Sometimes, he finds the concept almost unbelievable. And since he is never quite sure either way, he gives prayer some bit of effort, on the chance that someone is listening. (He wonders if that someone _is_ listening, do they care?)

 

His prayers always go something like this:

 

_If one of you is up there, or down there, or around here, and cares about my wants or hopes or dreams in any capacity at all, hear this: remove from the world all suffering. Replace it with kindness. Take from all of us our burdens. Carry them away from here. And to those whose suffering is justified, cleanse them of their evil, or remove them from the earth. Make them invisible and unknowable to those who are good._

He always closes his prayers with more personal words.

 

_And in particular, keep Mother and Father and Sayu safe from harm._

 

Today, he adds:

 

_And keep L and his grandfather safe too._

During the remaining portion of prayer, Light entertains himself as best he can. He has an imagination, and he sometimes thinks that this is the only reason he has not yet perished of boredom. He can create worlds inside his head that don’t exist. Many of these worlds are utopias – fantastic places in which Light can be what he wants to be, instead of what he was born to be.

 

When prayer ends, sermon begins. Everyone moves out of prostrated position and sits upright on the floor to listen. Today’s elder is relatively brief, but Light still finds his attention wandering. He watches the other parishioners, cataloguing their expressions, their dress. Many times, his thoughts turn to the next meeting L has planned for them, and something like the mixture of baking soda and vinegar bubbles and fizzes inside his stomach.

 

The elder is nearing the end of his testimony, saying something about the gods blessing their town with bountiful harvests and heavy rains.

 

Now that sermon is done, they will all share in communal wine, and then it will be (unfortunately) time for fellowship. Light finds a place around the altar, kneeling on the carpeted step, the picture of reverence. Everyone kneels, and then the wine is distributed. A hundred little white ceramic cups are handed out.

“Don’t drink it,” comes a barely-there voice to his right. Light freezes. He does not have to look over to tell who it is. He recognizes that soft rumble instantly.

 

Through peripheral vision alone, Light can make out his figure. L is wearing clothes far below his station: a gray cap like the newspaper boys wear on street corners and a tattered coat two sizes too big. The cap is pulled down low over L’s eyes, which would surely give him away if they were to be revealed.

 

What is he doing here? How long has he been next to Light? Why did he not say hello beforehand? What is going _on_?

 

Light knows that L would not avoid greeting him for no reason. There is something happening now that requires L’s presence to go unnoticed. Light can only suppose that this something is the case L is working on.

 

…can he really be following a lead _here_ , of all places? Light’s church?

 

The only thing Light does not stop to question is L’s command.

 

He accidentally-on-purpose topples over the tiny cup in his hands. Wine tumbles to the floor and makes a small puddle in front of Light’s knees, staining the hardwood a deep, blood red.

 

The pastor is standing in front of Light in an instant.

 

“Are you quite alright there, Light?” he asks. He sounds extremely solicitous, as he does with all of the parishioners when he speaks to one of them. At one time, their church had had the same pastor for as long as Light could remember: a kindly old gentleman with a craggy face. This pastor is relatively new, only a few months or so into his stewardship of the church. He is much younger, with longish black hair and eyes like cut glass. Thin rectangular spectacles rest on the bridge of his nose.

 

“I’m fine, thank you,” Light tells him.

 

The pastor smiles.

 

“Very good,” he says. “Here is a new one for you.” He holds out another small cup of red wine.

 

“Thank you, sir,” Light answers. He doesn’t drink it promptly, and the pastor walks away, tending to another member of the congregation.

 

“That one is fine,” L murmurs. This time, his voice is much closer. L is speaking right into Light’s ear. Light’s insides seem to liquefy, skin erupting into goose bumps. He controls himself enough to give a miniscule nod, making only the barest movement necessary.

 

Light drinks from his cup and tastes nothing unusual in it.

 

His thoughts buzz with a fervent, fanatical anxiety. Is he really to supposed to think that someone wants him _dead?_ Someone in this very room?

 

If so…if so, L has just saved his life.

 

When the time comes for all their hands to be joined in a final prayer, Light reminds himself that he mustn’t look at L. Even if he glances for a brief moment, whoever responsible for the attempt on his health (his life?) will surely notice. They will be watching him. Even now, they will seek out the slightest sign that he is aware of their plot. And, seeing one, they will not hesitate to silence him. Permanently.

 

After communion, the entire congregation joins hands and says a final prayer before proceeding to fellowship. Sayu, on Light’s left, reaches for his hand and swings it a little. She is clearly happy that the quiet part of church is soon to be over.

 

Light holds out his right hand as casually as he can, and he feels L’s fingers slip into his palm. Like his voice, L’s touch gives him away. Those are his long fingers…his smooth skin. There is no doubt.

 

It is difficult not to look at him as the final prayer is recited. Light inhales and exhales very consciously. He wills his heartbeat to slow. The air between them is thick with all the things they cannot say to each other right now. Light feels as if he is being denied something that is his by right.  

As soon as the final words are spoken, L gives Light’s hand one small squeeze. When he pulls away, there is some small bit of paper tucked into Light’s palm. Light knows better than to try to read it now. Instead, he pretends not to notice the paper. With that, L moves soundlessly away. Light knows that he is gone the moment it happens. He has vanished, and with him, the only person Light could hope to talk to about any of this vanishes too.

 

Light casually puts his right hand into his pocket, leaving the paper there to read later. He is left with a hundred questions. He makes his face a study in blank attentiveness, acutely aware of the danger he will bring upon himself if anyone is to know of the thwarted attempt to harm him. (Kill him? Is that what the culprit could have been after? Why, though? Why would anyone want to kill Light Yagami? What threat was he to anyone?)

 

Moments later, the parishioners begin to gather their things and file out of the building. Chatter begins to float up from the herd of them as they go.

 

When he and his family go onto the fairgrounds for fellowship, Light unfolds the note. There, in L’s fine script are the words:

_I’ll explain everything later._

Sensing somehow that this is not all, Light turns the note over.

_You would make quite the lovely choirboy,_ it reads.

 

Despite everything…the fear, the doubt…the suspicion that clouds his mind when he sees the other churchgoers…Light laughs under his breath. He folds the note and puts it into his pocket.

 

He can deal with things. Between the two of them…he and L….they will get to the bottom of this.

* * *

_  
_

“Light,” Mother says, sitting down at the table with him and mending one of Father’s socks. “Are you still set on me deciding everything for the Match Celebration? We’ve got some time still, if you had changed your mind.”

 

Light doesn’t want to outright admit that yes, now he feels some bit of investment in the Match Celebration, because it would be obvious where his change of heart stemmed from. But he doesn’t want to refuse, either.

 

“Why would I have changed my mind?” he asks. He has been working through one of Mr. Lawliet’s novels, and continues to keep his eyes on it in front of him, even though his concentration is now broken. He has been using the book partly for further study but partly to take his mind off of worry concerning his last day at church. He has been tense and restless since that day, despite knowing that it does him no good. He doesn’t have enough information to _do_ anything about what went on. He wishes he could. The lack of action leaves him feeling like a catastrophe awaits him around every corner.

 

Mother sounds like she’s smiling. “Oh, I don’t know. People are allowed to change their minds now and again. That’s part of life, isn’t it?”

 

“I suppose,” Light allows.

 

There is a pause between them before Mother responds.

 

“You know,” she says. “I had been thinking that the proper thing to do would be to have some music that day. Perhaps the players at church might volunteer a bit for us. Did you know that Miss Kubota plays the harp? And her brother is quite a good bass player?”

 

Light has never been good at remembering the names of various acquaintances. He meets Mother’s eyes. “Do you think they could play things that aren’t….hymns?”

 

“Oh, I’m sure they wouldn’t mind that, if that’s what you’d like, dear.”

 

Light nods. “And mom, can we not invite the whole town? Seriously. I know it can’t be just us but can we…have it a bit smaller? Than these things usually are, I mean?”

 

“Well, Light, the whole town is a bit extreme, of course, but you know we can’t exclude those who want to be there…Father’s men at the policehands academy and their families…everyone from church…they’re celebrating you, after all!”

 

Light sighs. _They’re celebrating the chance to eat food somebody else paid for, is what they’re celebrating. That and the chance to see the drama of the town unfold – a Match between someone like L and someone like…me._

“Have you thought about the food at all?” asks Mother, moving on. She finishes a stitch and ties it off neatly.

 

Actually, Light has. “Can we having something with cherries for dessert?”

 

“I suppose so, but why, dear? You’ve never liked cherries. Not even when you were just a wee thing!”

 

“Well…that’s true, I don’t, but he does. And it’s his Match Celebration too, isn’t it?” Light says all this in a hurry. He hopes Mother won’t make a big fuss about it.

 

“ ‘he’ meaning Mr. Lawliet, yes?” asks Mother.

 

_Who else?_

 

“Yes,” Light says.

 

“Alright,” she says casually. “Would a cherry cherry cake do?”

 

Cherry cherry cake is baked with mashed cherries in the batter and sugared cherries drizzled over the top and whole cherries as a garnish on the side. Light has never been able to stomach it. But it would be just the sort of thing that L would leap for.

 

“That would be great, Mother,” Light assures her.

 

Mother’s next words come out with a very _forced_ nonchalance. She sounds like she’s trying to convince a twelve year old that puberty, something very personal and embarrassing, is actually quite normal and nothing to worry about. “You’ve become quite smitten with him, haven’t you?”

 

Light is far more uncomfortable with this conversation than Mother could _ever_ understand.

 

And he is in a position where denial will only make him look more guilty.

 

“Would you…mind not talking about it with Dad and Sayu?”

 

“Alright,” says Mother, very agreeably. “But you know your Father would love knowing that you’re happy, son. And Sayu too. You haven’t been happy for such a long time.”

 

Light didn’t think their talk could _get_ more awkward. He was wrong.

 

“I’ve seen it, you know, dear. You never complain, and you help us so much, but it’s plain to see that you haven’t been enjoying your life. And your Father and I do so love you. We just want to see you glad of your time in the world…time does pass so fast, you know. One blink and it’s gone. And maybe your unhappiness has been because this isn’t quite the place for you. Maybe your place is elsewhere, and you’ll find it by doing something you really love to do. Maybe Mr. Lawliet can give you that. We hope so. And so far it’s been going well with him, hasn’t it?”

 

For some inexplicable, endlessly frustrating reason, Light suddenly feels as if he will cry. He hasn’t cried in ages. He can’t remember the last time he cried. And now, right here at their kitchen table, while doing her sock mending, his mother is close to reducing him to tears. He blinks them back, through sheer force of will.

 

“Yeah,” he says. It’s inadequate, in terms of moving the conversation along. He tries again. “And I’ve been fine, Mother…really. Don’t worry.”

 

“Well…you’re getting better, that’s true enough,” Mother says. She leans over to pat his hand. “We love you, son.”

 

“I love you, too, Mom.”

 

Mother leans back, continuing on briskly. “Have you thought about what you’ll get him as a wedding gift? We’ll need to place the order for whatever it is soon so that it will have time to be made and sent over. The shopkeepers always charge extra for rushing, you know.”

“I don’t know yet,” Light says. He needs time to think about that, and he can’t think right now. “Maybe I’ll go into the shops sometime and look around.”

Wedding gifts are traditionally exchanged at the Match Celebration. Light has time to prepare for his, but not so much time that he can afford to procrastinate. He has no idea what he ought to select. This is something that is meant to be unique to each couple – no standard gift or guideline. Light feels uncomfortable at the idea of giving L anything overtly personal in public, but neither does he want to give him something completely _impersonal_ and appear frigid toward him. Father saved his wages for several weeks and presented Mother with a pearl on a silver chain during their Match Celebration. Mother gave Father a sturdy pair of black leather boots, for his work in the academy.

 

“You could always take one of the horses and go this evening, Light,” Mother tells him. “We can have Sayu do your chores for you…she is growing up too and needs to learn.”

 

Light smiles. He’s rarely been away from home alone. It fills him with a sort of contentment to do so…exercising his independence.

 

“Alright…I’ll do that,” he says.

 

* * *

 

Pendleton and Jackson are the Yagami family’s horses. Both are brown geldings, and quite docile. They came as a pair when Father bought them years ago. Light and Sayu were enamored of them (Sayu more vocally so). One of the chores that Sayu actually performs reliably is brushing out their manes.

 

“They’re so cute!” she always says after she’s done. “Like show ponies!”

 

Light leans against the door of their stable. “Which of you wants to take me into town?” he asks them idly.

 

There is hay all over the stable floor, and Jackson is lying in it lazily. He seems disinclined to get up at all. Pendleton is standing, at least, and he whinnies.

 

“You it is, then,” Light says to Pendleton. He readies the saddle and reins, Pendleton flicking his tail restlessly. Both he and Jackson are used to pulling the family’s carriage, and occasionally a plow. It is a rare occasion that they go with just a rider.

 

Light has no idea what he ought to order for L. What kind of wedding gift does a rich man have need of? He must have everything, after all.

 

When Pendleton is ready, Light climbs onto his back and they ride out of the stable. It is twilight, and beautiful, outside. There are soft swirls of pink and purple in the sky. The sun is nearly set. Light can hear crickets chirping.

 

The road is mostly quiet, and Light is alone on it for long stretches of time.

 

_A clock?_ Light wonders, as Pendleton clip clops along. He throws out the idea. _Too impersonal._

_An album for pressing the wedding flowers? …too expected._

_A fountain for the gardens? He already has one of those._

_Some sort of art?_ Light has no idea what the inside of L’s manor looks like. He doesn’t know whether every wall is covered in some sort of painting or if the whole place is devoid of decoration. But surely L couldn’t _dislike_ art? Does anyone really dislike art, after all? Surely _some_ kinds of art are objectionable to certain people but…not all, certainly? Light leaves the idea of a painting in the category of “possibility.”

_A book of recipes? …an_ original _book of recipes?_ Light has created quite a few over the years…and L loves desserts. Light keeps this idea in the “possible” category as well.

 

The town shops are lined up in neat rows on either side of the street, each one pressed against the one next to it. There are shops for furniture, for candies, for clothing, for food…every merchant in town does business here. As a result, during certain times of day this stretch of road is swarming with people. Now, at twilight, there are a few here and there but nothing Light can’t handle. The merchants have lit candelabras inside their buildings in preparation of the darkness.

 

Every shop looks the same, too. Each one is a narrow sort of building with a large glass window in the front, which displays the merchant’s wares. The shop’s entrance is always to the left of this window. There is always a sign on the door, which reads _Welcome_ before announcing the shop’s name. _Yoshira’s Butchery. Takahashi’s Toy Emporium. Yumi’s Glassware._

 

Sameness. Monotony. Over and over again.

 

He wonders what the shops in Golden Apple are like. He has a sneaking suspicion that they are rather more differentiated from each other, more interesting, despite a lack of firm evidence in support of this idea.

 

Light guides Pendleton to one side of the road and hitches him in front of a shop called _Beniko’s Books._ It isn’t inconceivable that someone could try to steal him….horsetheft is rare, and the punishment for it is severe, but it has happened. Light plans to glance through the shop window frequently and keep a close eye on him while he browses.

_L likes books…it would be expensive, but maybe something here could work._

 

A small bell rings as Light opens the shop door, and he sighs inwardly. He hates entering a place only to have a group of strangers turn their gaze on him. On this occasion, the merchant is the only one who does so. She sits behind a wooden desk and is pouring over a ledger in front of her. She looks up and nods at him when he comes through the door and then turns back to her work.

 

It would be an oddly cold greeting for someone of the middle classes. In Light’s case, however, it is quite customary. Any merchant would assume that Light had little, if any, coins to spend here.

 

Light nods back and starts down one of the rows of bookcases before him. Mother and Father have saved coins ever since his birth for things like his dowry, the Match Celebration, and, lastly, the wedding gift. They wish they had more, particularly Father, for whom the dearth of funds is taken as a personal failure to provide. Light knows better. His parents could not have done better for he and Sayu than they have done. In this world…this rotten, monotonous world…no one could ever earn more coins than his father earned, or his father before him. It didn’t matter how hard you worked, or how talented you were. There were certain rules that were always enforced, and one of those was the rule that birth and station and one’s place in it were always to be observed. They were permanent.

 

Several books catch his attention: different titles concerning philosophy or government usually, but also works of classic literature, similar to the novels L has let him borrow. Light has almost finished one of them. He is proud of himself for the accomplishment but the embarrassment of _needing_ to improve his reading is like lead in his stomach.

 

He turns his thoughts away from these matters. He is here for one purpose, and that is to find something suitable for L. He picks up one of the books, heavy and leather-bound, and opens it to see the quality of the pages.

 

Many of the books are far outside his budget. They are filled with gold embellishments and lavish illustrations…they are the kind of thing that L is no doubt _accustomed_ to buying for himself. The other, more economical, choices pale in comparison. Light decides that a book is out of the question for a wedding gift. He picks up another book and flips through it, merely for show, while he thinks.

 

Will _anything_ that he can afford be suitable for someone like L Lawliet?

 

Maybe he ought to make something for him instead. At the very least, Light will be assured that he won’t be giving something to L that L already has.

 

But what is he to make? He’s fairly good in the kitchen but cooking something won’t be nice enough to give as a wedding gift.

 

Which is a shame, because L seems to love coffee as much as Light himself does. He’d probably be happy with some sort of original brew of different espresso beans.

 

…maybe Light could carve an espresso _cup_ for him?

 

That would be practical enough to present to L in public, but personal enough, too, given their meeting at _Willows_.

 

Light could even tuck a note inside of it. Something everybody at the Match Celebration won’t see. He expresses himself better in writing, anyway.

 

And maybe if he found a top grade block of wood to carve it out of, the thing would look rather good when it was finished. Light can carve fairly well. He resolves to buy the best bit of walnut wood that he can, thinking that the dark, rich color of it will suit L.

 

That is when his relative solitude is disrupted.

 

“Light Yagami…I would know your face anywhere.”

 

The voice is female.

 

Light looks up to see a young woman before him, surely close to his own age, with short black hair and a silk dress. There is a cloth bag hanging off of her elbow, no doubt filled with purchases.

 

“Hi,” he says, smiling though he isn’t happy in the slightest. He knows that he is expected to remember this girl. “It’s good to see you again.”

 

It isn’t. The only people on earth that it is good to see are his family. And L. Whom Light supposes will soon be his family, too.

 

“Hmm…you were never this bad a liar in schoolhouse,” the girl says. “I never even knew you didn’t like all of us back then. But you didn’t, did you?”

 

Light remembers now. This is Kiyomi Takada.

 

_God what an awful coincidence. Of all the days to be spotted by someone._

Light laughs, tossing his bangs out of his eyes. It is remarkable, he realizes, how quickly the old mannerisms come back to him. The old mask.

 

“You just caught me off guard, is all,” Light says, easily. “I hate it when I have to talk some acquaintance or other when I’m trying to shop. But of course that doesn’t include you. You aren’t an idiot.”

 

She is. Perhaps _less_ of an idiot than the average person, but an idiot nonetheless. Flattery like this used to always work on her when she would display and unexpected perceptiveness. And even now, even after all these years, Light can plainly see that it will work again. She’s so easily fooled. So…transparent.

 

Kiyomi coughs. “The rest of the masses too difficult for you to interact with, then?”

 

Light smiles, casting his eyes to the ground and chuckling in slightly ashamed sort of way, like he’s been found out. “Usually, yeah.”

 

Kiyomi makes a “hmm” sound. She is appeased.

 

“So how have you been, Miss Takada?” Light asks. This is the part where he’s supposed to show interest in how the other person has been all this time.

 

“Keeping busy, I suppose,” Kiyomi says mildly. She is trying to sound like her activities are no big deal in order to emphasize how important they really are. “Senior schoolhouse every day except Sunday, and then there’s church volunteering for that day.”

 

Light nods. “I’m sure you’re doing well in both.”

 

“Thank you,” says Kiyomi, full of calm dismissiveness. Which means Light’s compliment affected her. “And how have you been keeping?”

 

“Fairly well,” Light says. “I really can’t complain.”

 

“Certainly not,” Kiyomi says. Her voice is laced with something new. Light cannot name it, but he knows it is nothing pleasant. Kiyomi is looking at him as if from above, though there is no question that he is taller than she is. She is judging him for something, he realizes. It is certainly not outside her character. In schoolhouse, Kiyomi was known for passing judgment on everything from the next student’s shoes to the teacher’s accent.

 

“You sound so sure,” Light remarks. He is forming an idea of what this is about.

 

The Match. The Courtship.

 

“Who wouldn’t be?” Kiyomi asks. She tucks an errant strand of hair behind her right ear. Light sees a flower tucked into place there. Its petals are pure white and shaped somewhat like bells. A beardtongue flower. So many of the girls in Autumn Pass wear them in their hair. Light sees them everywhere he goes. “It isn’t every day that Autumn Pass’s most wealthy Suitor Offers for a Tradesman’s son, after all.”

 

Kiyomi says all this with a kind of carelessness that borders on being outright rude. Borders, but never quite tiptoes over that line.

 

“You’re right,” Light says. “I was a bit stunned, myself. And besides being wealthy, he’s quite handsome.”

 

“Is that so?” Kiyomi asks.

 

“Quite so,” Light says. Besides being good manners to speak highly of one’s Suitor whenever possible, Light has the added benefit of his words being true.

 

“One would wonder why exactly someone like that would Offer for someone with no dowry to speak of. It almost seems as though he is deficient in some way, to have refrained from Offering for someone with more standing.”

 

“The curious thing about our Match,” says Light mildly. “Is that so few people seem to grasp the concept of greed not being at the heart of it. It is sad, don’t you think? That so many people have only money on their minds?”

 

Kiyomi’s cheeks redden, and Light feel victorious.

 

He relishes his ability to put Kiyomi in her place. He knew that many people would find reason to question L’s reputation over his Suit. It will only be worse when news of the Courtship becomes more widely known. But this does not mean that Light must accept it without putting in his two coppers as well.

 

“He’s honestly so wealthy that dowry considerations are below him, anyway,” Light continues. “Most people don’t seem to grasp that concept, either.”

 

“Well then, who is this extremely handsome and extremely rich Suitor of yours?” Kiyomi asks. “Surely he has a name?”

 

Light wants to speak L’s true name, so cold and biting is his irritation. He wants to relish the authenticity of it. But he restrains himself. L’s name is a protected commodity. Light would be beyond negligent to reveal it without L’s knowledge or consent. It could endanger L, and he would never consider such a thing.

 

From nowhere, a realization enters his mind.

 

The flower in Kiyomi’s hair is not a beardtongue.

 

It is a foxglove. There a tiny brown spots inside the petals, not seen in beardtongues. Only seen in foxglove.

 

Why would Kiyomi Takada have a poisonous flower in her hair? If someone else had given it to her, Kiyomi was smart enough to know of its effects. There is no way she would mistake a flower so deadly for one so benign as a beardtongue. There is no way she’d put the thing in her hair.

 

This cannot be an accident on her part.

 

Light remembers the death of the deputy mayor. Rumors are still circulating that poison was to blame, not old age. And L told Light at their last meeting that the death was being investigated as a murder. In that case, belladonna was the supposed culprit. Could there be more poisons? Could this be one of them?

 

And now Light finds Kiyomi Takada, alone, wearing a poisonous flower in her hair. One that looks remarkably similar to a common, benign flower. So much so that it is perfectly disguised.

 

Almost perfect. Not perfect enough to fool Light.

And all this mere days after L saved Light’s life by protecting him from what Light can only assume was a poisoned cup.

 

Light responds to Kiyomi’s question with a question himself. “You really haven’t heard?”

 

He is reluctant to give her even L’s alias now.

 

“I’m afraid I haven’t,” says Kiyomi. Light is sure she is trying her best to hide it, but she is getting impatient.

 

“The Match Celebration invitations will be going out soon…I expect his name will be well known afterwards,” Light says carelessly. He inhales sharply, as if remembering something all of a sudden right then. “I do apologize, Miss Takada, but I should be going now. It was nice to see you again.”

And with that, he leaves the bookshop and doesn’t look back.

 

Pendleton is right where Light left him, and Light unties his reins and climbs onto his back as quickly as he can.

He rides hard on his way home, pushing Pendleton to the limit of his speed. Wind whips through his hair and the evening air punishes his face with its chill. Light presses on. The town’s lamps blur before him, their candles like small stars. He doubts there is any immediate danger to him at the moment if poisons really are the murder weapon. But he wants to be prepared for any possibility. If there is any chance of an attempt on his life now, his best option is to get to safety. Fighting is not out of the question, and certainly Light _would_ fight, if it came to that. But it is smarter to avoid a confrontation if he can help it. He is unarmed and alone, after all.

 

Maybe he is overreacting. Maybe the flower meant nothing.

 

Light leans down low over Pendleton’s neck, holding himself carefully in the saddle as they round a sharp turn.

No…no. Kiyomi Takada was up to something. It is impossible for Light to believe that she _accidentally_ put a deadly flower into her hair, given the level of her understanding of plants. Especially a deadly flower that is so difficult to come by. Foxglove is not something that she would have just stumbled upon. It had to have been sought out and harvested purposefully. Foxglove only grows in one location that Light is aware of, in a small cluster of earth that gets exactly the right amount of sunlight and water. It grows under such delicate conditions that even those who have tried to cultivate it in greenhouses have failed every time. And what were the odds that she just _happened_ to be wearing it in her hair, as was the fashion with beardtongues, which looked so similar that they provided the perfect camouflage for a potential murder weapon?

 

As hard as it was to think that a would-be murderer (murderess?) was freely walking the streets of their town at this very moment, Light has no way of stopping her right now. At this point, he is only able to recognize the threat and notify someone capable of neutralizing it.

He has only one choice. Light must find a way to tell L. As soon as possible.

 

He _knows_ that something important is here. His gut isn’t wrong, and nor is his inference. And he has every reason to suppose that L doesn’t yet know about this. His knowledge of certain subjects is surely vast, and more comprehensive than Light’s. But Light cannot assume that botany is one of these subjects. What reason would a Gentryman have to know of the subtle difference between foxglove and beardtongue? Unless L has previously worked a case in which a murder exploited the resemblance between the two to cover his or her tracks, Light cannot see why L would ever know. So he must tell him.

 

But how? Light’s only point of contact between L and himself is through the letters that Matsuda carries back and forth between them. And if Light’s letter is intercepted somehow, or lost, whoever found it might be the culprit herself. He cannot take that chance.

 

And he cannot take the chance of going directly to L. Pendleton will not get there quickly – Light will have to slow his speed considerably in order for him to last the journey without a rest. And the Courtship would almost certainly be called off if anyone were to see Light racing in the direction of Silver Hills at this hour, unaccompanied. Anyone would assume that Light was going there for one thing and one thing only.

 

Which means that Light must find a way to put his information into a letter. And he will need to code the letter in such a way that only L would be able to discern its meaning.

 

Light ponders the ways in which he might do this.

 

He and Pendleton are nearly home now. The house is within sight, and Light slows their pace as they ride to the stable. It is on the South end of the house, to protect the horses from the bitter North winds in winter. They reach the door of the stable and Pendleton shakes with exhaustion as Light dismounts. Light leads him inside, giving him water and two carrots for his trouble.

 

“Good boy,” he tells him quietly, patting his neck.

 

Pendleton fairly inhales the carrots. He snorts irritably before going to stand next to Jackson, who watches the proceedings with an idle interest.

 

Light closes the stable door and retreats to the house.

 

Mother and Father and Sayu have all retired for the night. His parents must truly trust him (and L) to know that he was away from home, alone, and not wait up for his return.

 

There are no candles left burning, so Light lets the moon guide him to the kitchen. He reaches his bed and pulls off his shoes and his shirt before climbing in. There is a small stack of paper and a quill under the mattress, as well as a small pot of ink.

 

He sets his quill to paper and starts several letters before discarding them, unsatisfied. He seems to always say too much, or to say not enough. Finding the correct balance is tricky business.

 

Perhaps if sent L something that was very clearly out of character for him? Then L would be immediately alerted to the possibility of a hidden message inside, but anyone one who did not know Light would be oblivious. Light might write as though he was someone shallow…someone ruled by his emotions, and also emotionally expressive.

 

There would be no worries about L supposing the letter to be a forgery. Light’s handwriting would tell L that the letter was really from him. Also, Light could reference something that only he would know: their plans to attend Cheval Blanc.

 

…this could work.

* * *

_L,_

_How is your case coming along? Any new leads? As always, feel free to disregard the question if answering it will cause you any risk. You know I am always conscious of the danger of revealing something that shouldn’t be revealed in writing._

_You know, I’m actually distraught about a friend of mine, Kiyomi Takada. I’m sure you’re very familiar with her, since I’ve mentioned her to you several times. I fear that she’s overworking herself, what with her volunteerism at church and her Schoolhouse studies. But she seemed to be getting by for now at least. And she did look quite lovely with a flower in her hair. She asked after you, by the way._

_We haven’t yet set a date for Cheval Blanc…I confess that I am eager to see you again, Suitor mine. I have much to tell you when we meet again._

_Your Match,_

_Light_

* * *

 

There is cream to churn. The Yagami family’s supply of butter is nearly exhausted, and Light needs to rectify the situation. He is outside, standing in front of their large, wooden churn. It is too big to fit comfortably inside the house, so Light must suffer the task outdoors.

 

Matsuda retrieved Light’s letter immediately that morning, at sunrise. It seemed to Light that the ink had barely dried before the paper was being folded into fourths and tucked away inside Matsuda’s jacket pocket.

 

“You know I’m not reading any of these, don’t you, Light?” he had asked. “I get that Courtship is private stuff. You can count on me!”

 

Light had assured him that yes, he trusted him to keep the letters confidential. Matsuda’s earnestness was almost painful, how could he not?

 

The late April sun is abnormally hot overhead as he works. This is something that Father can no longer help him with, as strain on his back causes him significant pain. Mother will sometimes take up the task, but Light dislikes subjecting her to suffer the calluses on her fingers and palms. And Sayu, besides lacking real motivation to complete the task, is not yet tall enough to use the churn effectively.

 

At least the churning doesn’t take hours and hours, the way that taking care of the fields does.

 

Light wipes his forehead with the back of his hand. Sweat is beading around his temples. The faster he works, the sooner he can rest.

 

“Light!” calls Mother from the back door. “You have a visitor!”

 

Light looks up from the churn, looking at Mother and seeing a small, knowing smile on her lips.

 

_Can she really mean….?_

It turns out that she does.

 

“Thank you kindly, Mistress Yagami,” says L, emerging from the door behind her. “I do apologize for the lack of notice.”

 

His eyes find Light’s and Light’s first thought is given to the way L’s shirt laces are half undone. The opening at his throat reveals his sharp collarbones. L’s shirt is loose fitting, as are his pants. L seems to have arrived in a great hurry. His hair, never quite combed flat, is standing nearly on end. But instead of looking unkempt, L simply seems…at ease. This thought is followed promptly by the realization of how utterly untidy Light must look right now.

 

“It’s no trouble, Mr. Lawliet. As far as we’re concerned, you’re family. You’re welcome anytime,” Mother says warmly.

 

L tips his head in her direction in a tiny sort of bow and murmurs another thank you.

Light abandons the churn (and the half-formed butter). Finger-combing his hair as best he can, he says, “L…what a surprise.”

 

“A pleasant one, I hope,” L says, brazenly. Mother remains just inside the doorway.

 

“Of course,” Light says. He realizes he is not observing the manners expected of him, and that Mother will surely see that. “Sir,” he adds.

 

“Shall I fetch some tea, son? Mr. Lawliet?” she asks politely. She is still smiling.

 

“Nothing for me, Mistress Yagami, thank you. I shan’t keep Light long,” L says. He is watching Light with a singular, unbroken focus. Light wonders if there is perhaps some horrid stain on his shirt, the way L’s eyes linger on his chest.

 

“No thank you, Mother,” Light tells her.

 

“Alright…I’ll be just inside then, if you two need anything.”

 

And with that, she returns inside, closing the door behind her.

 

There are two wooden rocking chairs to the left of the back door. They face the land, where small green seedlings are emerging from the dirt in neat, even rows. Conscious that they must remain in view of the back window, Light offers L one of them.

 

“I...” L says. Nothing more follows.

 

Light blinks. “…yes?”

 

L does nothing but stare at Light. He looks dazed.

 

“L?” Light prompts again.

 

L continues to stare.

 

“L, come now. I’m beginning to wonder if you’re having some sort of fit.”

 

“I do believe that Light ought to put on some sort of…opaque garment. A jacket, perhaps? I shall never be able to think if he insists on remaining in something I can see through,” L informs him. He takes a seat in one of the rocking chairs.

 

“What on earth are you talking….about…” Light starts, looking down at himself. He realizes that his white shirt, threadbare as it is, is completely translucent, by a combination of his perspiration and the scorching sunlight.

 

Light can’t help but grin a little. He knows it is prideful to do so, but he feels a certain dark self-satisfaction.

 

“I’ll be right back, then,” he tells L. “If you’re sure, that is.”

 

L drags his eyes over Light’s shoulders and down to his waist. Light shivers, despite the heat.

 

“Light is more suited to certain physical pursuits right now than intellectual ones, and in the interest of saving lives, I must insist that he change,” L says, very intently. He steals Light’s gaze and holds it. “However…I would like to impress upon him the idea that it is a matter of life and death that moves my request. Nothing less could do so, in this moment.”

 

Light swallows. He feels the heat now from within, as well as from without, and goes inside without another word, for fear of what he’ll say.

 

Mother is kneading bread in the kitchen. He takes his coat from the back of one of the dining table chairs and slips it on swiftly.

 

“Going somewhere, dear?” Mother asks.

 

Light coughs. There is no possible way he can explain the jacket by saying that he is cold, not with sweat dripping even now between his shoulder blades.

 

“No, I...well….we’re just…talking,” he says. He can hear the _guilt_ in his own voice, and knows how incriminating it is. Even if they _are_ just talking.

 

“Of course, dear,” says Mother mildly, continuing to work on her bread. “Insurance policies are never a bad idea.”

 

Light nearly cringes at the implication. He hurries out, and back to L.

 

L takes one look at him and nods approvingly, gesturing to the other chair. Light sits. It is stifling inside of a jacket in this heat but he doesn’t complain.

 

“You received my letter,” Light says with certainty.

 

“Absolutely,” L tells him. His eyes are bright and penetrating. “I read it and spared no time in racing here. Athena nearly threw me off, I was in such a haste.”

 

“Athena?” asks Light.

 

“Ah, yes…you have not been introduced,” L says thoughtfully. “Athena is my horse. She is making use of your stables now…your Mother was quite hospitable to her. You shall meet her later. Now, then…”

 

L pulls his knees up to his chest, wrapping one arm around them and nibbling on one of his thumbs. Light has never seen him sit in such a way before. He marvels at it.

 

“Now then, Light,” L says. “Let us talk.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So you see, L and Light have progressed to the point of the Regency equivalent of outright flirting. …Actually, it’s the anything equivalent of outright flirting. They’re outright flirting, is my point. It is TOO much fun to write. Seriously. 
> 
> This chapter was a challenge. I don’t feel entirely satisfied with it but I’ve exhausted myself with edits for the time being. 
> 
> For those who may be unfamiliar, foxglove is the common name for a flower called digitalis. It is currently used in medication for heart failure. (Called, extremely creatively, digoxin.) If given improperly, however, it can slow the heartbeat until the heart actually stops. And beardtongues do actually bear a strong resemblance. 
> 
> A note on Match Celebrations: everyone has a Match Celebration, whether they were Offered for or Courted. However, in cases of Courtship, the Match Celebration is only planned and carried out if the couple becomes engaged. If the Courtship falls through for whatever reason, no Match Celebration happens. In the case of Offers, the engagement is already in place (sometimes without either party ever having met each other), so the Match Celebration can be planned immediately. It could also be carried out fairly soon after the Offer is accepted, if the wedding is expected to happen quickly. This is why Light’s parents had a Courtship but also a Match Celebration. It is also why Match Celebrations are so expected in this society, to the point of being like a rite of passage. 
> 
> Also, if anyone is wondering why Light uses Kiyomi’s first name (in his own head, at least) when doing so with L is a mark of familiarity and comfort, if he does not feel familiarity or comfort with Kiyomi, this is why: in L’s case, Light using the title “Mr. Lawliet” is a mark of manners – deference to L’s station in life and how Light is below it – but also respect. Light stops using the title when he feels comfortable enough with L, and the difference in their station, to treat him as an equal. However, despite Kiyomi’s higher station, Light does not respect her. So while he does use her title out loud, in his head she is not worthy of it. Hope that makes sense.
> 
> BC3, all my love and thanks, as always. Muah!
> 
> And thank you all for the lovely reactions to the last chapter! I’ve even seen this story recommended in a few places and I can’t say how flattering that is!
> 
> Chapter nine is currently in progress, wherein the plot thickens. Brace yourselves for Cheval Blanc! 
> 
> \- Magic


	9. Chapter Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chopin’s Spring Waltz this time, everyone. :)

“Now then, Light,” L says. “Let us talk.”

 

Light nods. The sun beats down on them, and the jacket he wears makes all of the heat even more stifling. But his mind can only pay the smallest bit of attention to these facts. Right now, he is with L, and he is going to provide information that L needs for one of his cases, and he couldn’t feel more alive if he were, at this very moment, gasping for his last breath.  

“You were exactly right to send me your letter…and you framed it so skillfully that I do not believe we would have any reason to worry about threats to our security if it had been intercepted. May I ask how you devised your code?” L asks.

 

“Well,” begins Light. “The ideal method would have been to use an actual code, I suppose, one that only you had held the key to. That way, I could have given you the details of everything right there in the letter. But since that wasn’t an option for me, I had to think of some other way. And I realized that all I really needed right then was a means by which to let you know that _something_ had happened, not necessarily what the something was. We could discuss that part when next we met. I thought it was a possibility that you would want to hasten our next meeting, so that I could tell you everything. I never expected that you would move this quickly, though.”

 

“Any lead or clue, however small it seems initially, can be the deciding factor in a case,” L says. “And something that brought you to feel the kind of urgency I detected in your letter…I decided the possibility of you discovering something momentous was too high to postpone seeing you.” 

 

“And I am very glad you did….you see, what I realized was that if you were alerted to the fact that I was not myself, you would become suspicious of whatever I mentioned. So I mentioned a small part of what concerned me, which I’m sure you spotted, in the hope that you would connect it to your case. And you did not disappoint.”

 

“Nor did you, Light. You operated wisely. You know so little about the case at hand, and yet you still had the insight to detect and convey whatever it is you saw because it _could_ have been related. You did not overlook possibilities – that is where most detectives fail. Now, let’s have it. What exactly, in the greatest detail you can afford me, did you see?” asks L. 

 

“It all happened only last night. I was alone…I took Pendleton into town and I was looking through the shops. And I came upon this girl…. Kiyomi Takada. Actually, it was she who came upon me.”

 

“Were you in one of the shops when this happened?” L inquires.

 

“Yes….the bookshop. _Beniko’s Books_? I don’t know if you’re familiar with it.”

 

L rubs his thumb over his bottom lip, eying the sky thoughtfully. “I cannot say that I am.”

 

“Well…there was nothing really remarkable about it. It was the girl. She used to be my classmate in Schoolhouse. She continued on after I had to stop attending. She also volunteers in the church – which, in light of that incident with the wine, I find even more suspicious now. Anyway, she approached me…made small talk, catching up, all of that sort of thing. Everything was normal until she mentioned you,” Light explains. “Actually…I suppose her reaction will be fairly typical as time goes on.”

 

“And what was her reaction?” L asks. He turns back to Light, smirking a bit, as if he already knows what the reaction was, and it amuses him to some degree.

 

“She implied that there was only one explanation for why someone like you would Offer for someone like me: that you were deficient somehow, and that’s why you didn’t seek someone who had a decent dowry to their name,” Light says drily.

 

L nods, clearly unsurprised by this.

 

“She also asked for your name,” Light adds.

 

L blinks. “Hmmm…did she now? And what did you tell her?”

 

Light shakes his head. “Nothing. I made some excuse about how the Match Celebration invitations would soon be sent out, and I got out of there as fast as I could. Because, L, she had this flower in her hair – a foxglove.”

 

As Light had suspected, L does not react to this news with any sort of visible shock. He does not seem to know what the plant is.

 

“That’s the part that alarmed me,” Light continues. “It really, really is not normal. L, foxgloves are poisonous. They stop people’s hearts.”

 

L leans forward in his chair, peering at Light. Instead of continuing to rub his thumb across his lips the way he has been, he bites down on the nail of it. “A foxglove, you say?”

 

Light nods. “A foxglove. They look almost exactly like the beardtongues that all the girls around town wear in their hair. Beardtongues are harmless. But this one…this one was definitely _not_ a beardtongue. I would know foxglove anywhere. There were brown spots in the petals. And L, it _couldn’t_ have been an accident that Kiyomi had one. She knew plants as well as I did, in Schoolhouse. She wouldn’t have just plucked it up out of the ground without realizing what she was dealing with. And she wouldn’t have been fooled if somebody gave it to her and told her it was something else. There’s a reason she had a poisonous flower in her hair last night. I _know_ it. And I know that it was rumored that the deputy mayor was poisoned. Not with foxglove, true enough, but still…maybe these murders really are being done with poisons. And if they are, maybe there are _multiple_ poisons being used. A way to camouflage the murderer’s tracks. And maybe Kiyomi Takada is involved somehow.”

 

“Did you ask Miss Takada about the flower?” L asks. He looks and sounds very serious indeed. “Did you or she mention it in any way?”

 

“No…not even indirectly. But I know where the foxglove flowers grow – there’s only one place in town. They can’t be cultivated, and a wild patch of them is all that’s available, which means the supply is limited. They grow west of here, in between a giant Ash tree and a small brook. It’s fifteen…maybe sixteen furlongs from here. There might be more clues there, if you visit it.”

 

L nods. “I shall. And did Miss Takada seem uneasy at all, when you spoke with her?”

 

Light takes a moment to think before he answers. “No…no, I can’t say that she did. She never struck me as someone who wore her heart on her sleeve, though, truth be told. But then again…I think I would have recognized it even so, if she had been.”

 

“And was there anything else that you found suspicious about Miss Takada last night? Anything at all?”

 

Light sighs. “Well, it’s not common for a young woman to be out alone at night, of course…but it is known to happen from time to time, just like with Matched people like me. So I can’t say that’s necessarily suspicious. Honestly, what seemed the most surprising to me, besides the flower itself, was how interested in _you_ she seemed. Your identity is a secret, I know, but somehow she seemed…like I said, _interested_. And she never was one for idle gossip. I don’t know…people change, of course. Maybe it was pure jealousy. As far as I know, she’s still un-Matched. And she’s my age.”

 

L doesn’t say anything for several beats. He returns to staring at the sky, almost as if he is looking for the answer to a riddle written there in the clouds.

 

“L,” Light goes on. “What am I going to do about the church? How am I supposed to go back there, knowing what almost happened, and how am I supposed to _not_ go back? Everyone in town will be talking about it if I don’t. It’ll only draw more attention to me.”

 

“That’s absolutely right, which is why you cannot, under any circumstances, alter your routine. If we were to alert your family to the matter, their behavior would change noticeably, no matter how much they tried to keep it quiet. The perpetrators, whoever they are, would know that their plans had been found out. We cannot afford such a setback in the case, and we certainly cannot afford additional risk to your life.” L turns his gaze to the ground, tilting his head and speaking in low, thoughtful tones. “It will be up to you to maintain your appearance, routine, and mannerisms as closely as possible to the self you had _before_ you were aware of the poisoned wine. That is the safest course for you now.”

 

Light’s heart pounds. He understands L’s reasoning, of course, but it is not in his nature to do essentially _nothing_ about something as serious as this. He feels as if he ought to be making plans for a counterattack…some kind of offensive maneuver. Anything at all – even if it is just to make himself feel less vulnerable.

 

Light does not do well with relying on others for his own protection.

 

“Light,” L says solemnly. Light looks over at him and their eyes meet. Something in L’s wide, black eyes wills Light to believe his next words. “I have eyes all over this town. And I promise you, I have never failed to solve a case. I have never lost. I am sure that you would feel better, in the short term, to know the full extent of what we are dealing with. But in the long term, it would put you in more danger to know everything that I know at this point in time. Suffice it to say that I have my suspicions concerning specific individuals, and I have a pretty good idea of what the culprit’s aims are. The situation is under control. I will always be watching, and I will always have your safety at the forefront of my mind. You are intelligent enough to see the truth of this, I think, even if you don’t _like_ not having all the answers. You will be careful, and watchful, and you will be safe this way. If you are not here at home, you will be at church, where I will see to your safety – even if you do not see me there. And if you are not at home or in church, you will be with me. And I swear to you, no harm will befall you while I am at your side.”

 

“Can you not tell me _some_ thing?” Light asks. He is not normally quick to anger, but something about L puts his emotions so much closer to the surface than they normally lie. “L, put yourself in my shoes. Can you not consider how it would feel to be walking around with a blindfold on, knowing that you could be stepping on a mine at any moment?”

 

“It would feel…miserable,” L concludes aloud.

 

“Yes, L. It would, and it does,” says Light firmly.

 

L sighs. “I can tell you that the wine at your church, the wine you almost drank, was _meant_ for you. It was no accident that it fell into your hands and not some other congregant’s.”

 

“So I’m a target, then.” Light says.

 

“Essentially…yes,” L says. He sounds reluctant to answer.

 

“And do you know _why_ I am being targeted?” presses Light.

 

“I have my suspicions. They are suspicions only. Nothing has been confirmed.”

 

Light feels himself leaning forward in his chair, holding L’s gaze and refusing to let it go. He is attempting to manipulate L into revealing more information than he wants to reveal. And while Light cannot expect any success to come from his efforts (L has fully resisted his previous attempts at manipulation before, after all), he could not live with himself if he did not try anyway. “Can you tell me what those suspicions _are_ , then?”

 

“You ought not use those eyes of yours so casually, Light,” L murmurs. “One day, I am certain, they will get me into serious trouble. But no…I cannot tell you of my thoughts in this matter. It would only serve to place you more at risk, and I cannot abide that.” 

 

“Can you at least tell me if my family is at risk? I need to be able to protect them. Surely you can understand that.”

 

“I do understand it, yes. But nothing I have seen or inferred implicates any of them in the plot,” says L, and Light believes him.

 

Light sighs heavily. “Then I am to…do nothing, basically. Allow you to shoulder the entire case while I maintain a corn harvest and…read books?”

 

“No, Light,” L argues. “You are to keep yourself _safe_ , by whatever means necessary. In this case, maintaining your normal life. And beyond that, you are to continue to report anything suspicious you may see around you. You are far less conspicuous in public than I, and this is a blessing that should not be undervalued.”

 

Light nods. He can accept logical truths even when they do not suit his emotional ease.

 

“And beyond _that_ ,” L continues with a smile. “You should continue our Courtship.”

 

Light rolls his eyes, a smile of his own tugging at his lips. “As if I had any reason or desire to put it to a halt.”

 

He realizes an instant too late just how revealing this statement is.

 

_Idiot. Why not just jump into his lap while you’re at it, and spare you both the trouble?_

 

“Very good,” says L approvingly. “While we are on the subject, may I inquire as to why you were alone in town last night? Is it not customary for a Match to be accompanied most places?”

 

“Well…yes, it is. But there are certain exceptions,” Light answers.

 

“Those being…?” asks L.

 

As if by instinct, Light seeks out a way to obscure the truth. It feels too private to say. But the words are pulled out of him, despite himself. “Those being when a Match is searching out a wedding gift.”

 

Light doesn’t know _why_ the words should seem so intimate, when it is only a matter of course that a Match present his or her Suitor with a gift for their wedding. There is nothing particularly personal about it. Everyone does it, at all marriages, always.

 

 _Except that there is something intimate about it_ his mind whispers. _Because you are Courting him, and because your gift will be something you yourself made._

“Ah…” says L, knowingly. “And did you manage to find one, then?”

 

“You shall see that for yourself, Mr. Lawliet,” Light demurs. “At the Match Celebration.”

 

“But I want to know _now_ , you see,” complains L.

 

Light laughs. “I’m sure my mother and sister would love to know now as well. But you all must wait.”

 

L sighs. “Ah, Light, you torture me. Do you not know that a detective _lives_ to uncover mysteries? Why do you deny me this?”

 

“Because, L,” replies Light, leaning back in his chair. “some things are better with a little mystery.”

 

* * *

They walk together to the stables, and Light sees what can only be L’s horse, standing in between Pendleton and Jackson. She is jet black and well muscled.

 

Light opens the stable door and L follows him inside it. The two geldings seem a bit restless at the sight of L, clearly unsure of a stranger in their midst. Light gives them each a pat, muttering, “Come now, you two, cut it out. He’s fine.” L doesn’t make any sudden movements, in their direction or otherwise, and they relax.

 

“Protective, aren’t they?” he asks conversationally.

 

“Skittish is more like it,” says Light.

 

L takes Athena’s reins and leads her out of the stable, Light on his left.

 

“Your mare is beautiful,” Light tells him.

 

“She is six years old next month, and quite spoilt,” L replies, without a trace of shame. He holds the reins and looks up at Athena. Though he doesn’t smile, his eyes shine with an obvious pride.

 

Light can see that she is nothing short of prize-winning quality. “A Friesian, is she?” he asks.

 

L nods. “Light knows his horses as well as he knows his plants, it seems.”

 

“It would be hard not to, around here,” he explains. Athena is looking at him curiously. She shows no sign of fear.

 

Light takes a step closer, reaching out to pet her neck. Her mane is thick and slightly wavy.

 

Immediately, Athena rubs her nose and forehead against Light’s hair. She is so powerful that she nearly knocks him over. Light stumbles and finds himself laughing. “Do you think she likes me?” he asks L lightly.

 

“You scarlet female,” L says flatly to the mare.

 

Light strokes the soft fur between her eyes. “No, no…she must know that you and I are Courting and wants to make friends ahead of time. She has a mind for strategy.”

 

L chuckles. His voice is mischievous when he says, “Well…I confess I have a weakness for clever beauties.”

 

The comment is unexpected, and Light feels his cheeks redden.

 

“I know you would dearly love to search out more clues, Light…would that I were able to bring you along. But we both know we can’t bring a chaperone along to something like this. And besides…you have an important meeting of your own.”

 

Light blinks, not taking his meaning. L nods in the direction of the road, and there Light sees L’s own carriage approaching. Matsuda is in the driver’s seat, waving.

 

Light turns back to L. “Why is Matsuda here?” he asks. “Are we going somewhere this evening?” He feels a bit of hope bubble up in chest.

 

“Not tonight, unfortunately,” L says. “You will learn his purpose here soon enough. We shall meet again during our visit to Cheval Blanc. The fourth of May, shall we say?”

 

Light nods. He finds it unreasonable that the seven days between this day and that one should feel like a lifetime. “The fourth, then.”

 

“Very good,” says L assuredly. He steps into Athena’s stirrup and swings a leg over her back. Light watches, spellbound, as he situates himself in the saddle.

 

“L,” Light begins, stepping closer without any clear reason in his head as to why.

 

“Hmm?” L asks, looking down at him. The sun makes his hair shine like moonlight on water.

 

Light clears his throat, trying to buy himself time. He did not know what it was he was planning to say, only that he felt as if something _must_ be said.

 

“There isn’t any help to be had for quite some distance, once you reach that patch of foxglove,” he finds himself saying. “And snakes have been known to lie there…from time to time.”

 

They look at each other for several beats. The eye contact is not unpleasant.

 

“I shall be on my guard,” L tells him.  

 

“Good,” Light nods. “…good.”

 

Holding onto the saddle horn with his right hand, L leans far to his left, reaching out. Light slides his hand into L’s outstretched palm, telling himself that this is surely not the last he will see of the man. He is not a mother hen, or some silly Schoolhouse girl. 

 

“I have been a detective for many years now, Light,” L says, before kissing Light’s knuckles. “And no harm has yet befallen me.” 

 

Light nods. “I know you are quite capable.”

 

“As are you, Mr. Lawliet-to-be,” L says, grinning. He lets go of Light’s hand and straightens up. “Mr. Matsuda is surely dying to bring you some news, now. I shall write to you as quickly as I can.”

 

And with that, he nudges Athena’s flanks with his heels, and they take off at a gallop.

 

Light watches them go. He keeps sight of them even past the point that L himself ceases to be seen, and only Athena’s black tail is discernable.

 

“Light!” he hears Matsuda calling, along with quick, eager footfalls. “Light, you won’t believe what I have in here!”

 

* * *

 

_Light,_

_Though I cannot give you many details here, I can say that your guidance proved fruitful. I have never had someone’s assistance so freely and selflessly given, either. Is there nothing unappealing in your character? Some part of you must be flawed, surely? For I have not seen it, and I am beginning to doubt my faculties._

_How goes it with your reading? Which novel have you started first? If I had to guess, I should say that you chose to start Acts of Contrition by Walter Scott. I base my hypothesis on the knowledge of your interest in philosophy, particularly justice and moral decision-making. Do let me know if I have chosen rightly, or if my suppositions are wildly off base. Likewise, if I am correct, you must let me know how far you have progressed in the story. It is a favorite of mine and we shall have much to discuss. _

_Your Suitor,_

_L_

_P.S. – What did you think of Mr. Matsuda’s delivery the other day?_

* * *

_L,_

_I am quite glad that I was able to aid you. I have never been allowed any sort of input on Father’s cases, though I have had several ideas for them over the years. That is yet another injustice in our society – that those with worthwhile ideas are silenced because of their birth._

_As to my flaws, I assure you that I have my fair share. You ought to know this now, before the wedding, in the event that you realize your folly at the altar, when there is no recourse left to you. For one, I am wholly stubborn. In matters of day to day to life, I can be agreeable, but my opinions are steadfast in the extreme. You would be hard pressed to argue me out of a position, once I take it. For another, I am often of the brooding sort, and can spend long hours fixed on a single idea. My sister complains often that I am dour, and I confess that seriousness is something I value. Thirdly, I have the tendency to speak abundantly (too abundantly) on topics of interest to me, or on things about which I feel strong conviction. And though I have not yet experienced cause for it, I have the suspicion that I could be ardently possessive of someone I loved, if another should make advances toward them. Shall I go on? Or have I perhaps already have sent you packing your things?_

 

 _You are quite correct in your guess, I must say. Acts of Contrition_ _has been well-loved by me so far. The judge is quite the character, is he not? I enjoy his wit a great deal. And yes, you are correct that what pulled me toward this novel in particular were my philosophical interests. However, I did not expect romance to play a part! If indeed I am not misreading things, I feel confident in saying that Messers Gregory and Wolfshire shall be on their way to a happily ever after by the story’s end. Gregory has been a guest at Wolfshire’s office a few times now, and has given him several ideas as to how Ms. Hamm’s murder might have been achieved._

  
Your Match,

 

_Light_

_P.S. – The delivery was too generous, L, really. I know you well enough by now to know that you shan’t take it back, no matter how outrageous the expense. I can only endeavor to wear it well for you._

* * *

_Light,_

_You may fully trust that, with me, your birth shall be no hindrance to you. I could care less whether you were born to the aristocracy or to a pauper. You’ve a strong mind and strong spirit – and they are yours, not society’s._

_I can assure you that I am not going anywhere, despite any self-professed imperfections on your part. In fact, those things which you deem vices in yourself might just as easily be viewed as virtues. So many of these things are all a matter of perspective. You see, on my part, I can be quite stubborn myself. One person might term this ‘principled’ while someone else would deem it ‘obstinate.’ For another thing, I am guilty, as you have seen, of using the truth as a means to an end, and doing the same with falsehoods. I may justify it in the interest of higher purposes, but a person could easily condemn me for it anyway. Just as you are prone to fits of brooding, so am I prone to moodiness. Grandfather has often chastised me for it. When faced with significant hindrances to my goals, I can become downright sullen, sulk for hours (or even days), and do very little of anything that can be termed productive._

_The judge is splendid, I quite concur. Wait for the speech he delivers at the epilogue. You shan’t be disappointed. And you are quite correct about the possibility of a romance between Gregory and Wolfshire….I won’t confirm or deny here whether it actually comes to pass, since you are still reading, but suffice it to say that they enjoy a tension, at the very least._

_Your Suitor,_

_L_

_P.S. – Too right that I would not accept the suit back. It is a gift for you, and you alone. I do hope that Mr. Matsuda informed you of the tailor, as well. He shall fit it to your measurements, and wear it well you shall. I have no doubt of that._

* * *

The suit surely cost more than Light’s entire wardrobe combined. Light had it tailored, and what an experience that was. He was made to stand stock-still as a short, bald man measured the length of his arms, his legs, his waist, over and over again. But the result was worth the time spent. The coat, which reaches nearly to his knees, is a dark gray, crisply ironed. Underneath, there is a gray waistcoat with gold buttons down the middle. The breeches are black as ebony and just as stiffly ironed as Light’s coat. The suit came along with a steel-colored cravat, as well, which Light had no idea how to tie. He had to enlist his Father for help with it.  

 

They stand in front of the mirror, Father carefully doing up the knot at Light’s throat.

 

“Cheval Blanc, is it?” he asks gruffly. Light cannot tell if Father is approving or disapproving.

 

Light nods, finding it somehow difficult to meet his father’s eyes. “He insisted.”

 

“Hmmm. Expensive place, you know,” Father replies. He continues his work on the cravat.

 

“I know…. I suppose he can afford it,” Light wonders what Father is really trying to say, as the cost of Cheval Blanc cannot possibly be a surprise to him.

 

“I suppose he can…suppose that’s the reason for the suit, too. Generous of him.”

 

“Quite generous, yes, Father,” Light agrees. He feels awkward.

 

“Things are going alright with the Courtship, then, I imagine, if he’s gifting you with things like this,” Father says. It isn’t really a question, but Light takes it as such anyway.

 

“He hasn’t complained…not to my knowledge, at least.” Light’s heart stutters in his chest as he says this. He thinks that L _is_ happy with their Courtship thus far. Perhaps something of the tense, edgy anticipation with which Light approaches their meetings is felt by L as well. Perhaps he too spends the hours before their meetings with considerations of what the night will bring.

 

“You know, son…” Father says. “If something doesn’t quite pan out with Mr. Lawliet…you will always have a place here. You know that, don’t you?”

 

“I know, Father,” says Light. He realizes now that it is not that Father is worried that the Courtship will go sour….it is that he is worried that it _won’t_. It isn’t that he fears that Mr. Lawliet is unsavory…it is that he fears he _isn’t_.

 

In short, Father is afraid that Light will be leaving. For good.

 

It is a bit perverse, logically speaking, given that Father is the one who chose L to be Light’s Suitor in the first place. Oughtn’t he be grateful that the Match is working?

 

But in another way, Light understands. He _is_ leaving. He is to be married, and when that occurs, he will move into L’s manor, and that will be that. There is no other way to go about it, and, truthfully, Light would have it no other way. And moving into one’s Suitor’s home is the way of things, and something that Mother and Father will accept with time. In another way, Light isn’t truly leaving at all. He will visit, and when Mother and Father are getting on in years, they will most likely live with he and L themselves. Just as L’s grandfather lives with him now.

 

Though Light has always felt that his parents don’t quite understand him, he knows that they love him dearly. And they have always cared for him, and he would be the very worst of ingrates to abandon them.

 

“I believe that will about do it,” Father says. He pulls his hands away from the cravat and surveys Light. When he nods satisfactorily, he turns Light toward the mirror, and Light sees himself from a whole new perspective.

 

This, he recognizes, is what he will most often see in the mirror after he is married. Fancy clothes and fancier neckties…someone cultured and refined.

 

Is this what L really wants? A transformed version of Light? Is he merely tolerating the present, humble version?

 

Or is this truly what Light is supposed to be? Is this the path he is destined (if such a thing as destiny exists) to walk? And perhaps L _saw_ that destiny, and pursued it?

 

There is no way to know for sure…not at this point. Light must soldier on. The truth will be revealed in time.

 

As he said to L, some things are better with a little mystery.

 

“Thank you, Dad,” Light murmurs.

 

Father clasps Light’s shoulder and squeezes it. “Matsuda will be arriving any moment, I think. I should like an apple cider before he does.”

 

* * *

 

Father is right, and Matsuda arrives quickly after that. He stands in the doorway as Mother and Father tell him goodbye, and Sayu wraps her arms around Light’s middle.

 

“Have fun, big brother!” she tells him. “Say hello to Mr. Lawliet for me!”

 

Light nods and hugs her back. “Thanks, Sayu. I will.”

 

“Bye, everybody!” says Matsuda cheerfully. He turns around and walks in the direction of the carriage, calling over his shoulder, “I’ll have him back by ten!”

 

“Goodnight, everyone,” Light says, more composedly, and follows him.

 

The door snicks closed behind them, and Matsuda is already prattling on.

 

“Light, your suit looks _amazing_ ,” he says as they walk down the lane. “Mr. Lawliet sure has expensive taste! Just imagine what the wedding will look like! What if he, like, passes out rubies to everyone?”

 

“I really don’t think he’s _that_ rich, Matsuda,” Light says.

 

It is traditional for the Suitor’s parents to pay for the wedding, while the Match’s parents cover the cost of a Match Celebration. Since Light is almost certain that L is an orphan, L’s grandfather will surely be the one to step in and pay for the ceremony.

 

“You never know, Light,” Matsuda continues on. “What if he’s only been _thrifty_ all this time?”  

 

Light laughs a bit. “Somehow I don’t think that’s the case.”

 

L doesn’t strike Light as a particularly frugal person.

 

They reach the carriage, and Matsuda shrugs as he climbs into the driver’s seat. “Either way, it will be one heck of a wedding!”

 

The carriage door opens after this wildly inappropriate statement. Light cannot see how L will conclude anything but the truth from it: namely, that Light and Matsuda regularly discuss Light’s engagement, and that they do so as eagerly as two maidens would.

 

And gods, but does L look as dashing as ever. He steps out of the carriage wearing a suit nearly identical to Light’s, though it is done up in royal blues and silvers.

 

“Good evening, Light,” he says, holding the door open and his hand aloft.

 

“Hello, L,” Light says, cursing the softness in his voice. He takes L’s hand and climbs into the carriage. He is smoother now in the maneuver – almost as if he has grown used to the particular set of its step and height.

 

L climbs in after him and settles into the bench opposite Light. His eyes rake over Light’s frame unabashedly.

 

“My tailor did excellent work,” he says. “You look exquisite.”

 

Light is male, and a grown man, and he will _not_ blush at this. “It was a lavish gift, L, truly.”

 

“No more than you deserve,” L tells him.

 

Light swallows. L’s praise does something to him that he cannot name, something he is unsure if he ought to explore. “Have you made any more progress on the case?”

 

“Bits and pieces…nothing substantial yet. Honestly, I did not expect this case to be quite so complex when I first took it on,” says L. Contrary to sounding down or discouraged, L seems pleased at the prospect of a long, difficult murder plot. “Has there been any news on the subject from your side of things?”

 

Light shakes his head. “Would that there was….I feel as if I am waiting for an assassination attempt at every corner.”

 

“Ah, fear not, Light….remember my vow. I am bound by it, truly. I have eyes on the situation from all sides…you shall not come to harm.”

 

Light does not distrust L’s word, but some part of him is convinced that there _is_ still reason for concern – if not for himself, then for someone close to him.

 

* * *

 

Cheval Blanc is the nicest restaurant Light should ever hope to dine in. There are crystal chandeliers everywhere he looks, candles placed at even intervals within them, spilling soft rainbows of light throughout the place. Light guesses that there are about fifty round tables total, all topped with spotless white tablecloths. Each table bears a centerpiece of some small bouquet or other – daffodils or carnations or roses – along with small tea light candles. The carpet is a rich, plush royal purple. The restaurant as a whole is quiet without being stiff…many of the tables are occupied with couples and families talking discreetly. Everyone seems to be dressed to the nines. And the scent coming from the kitchen can only be described as inviting: Light can detect sweet pumpkin pie, and something more savory…perhaps the venison L described in one of his letters.

 

A waiter approaches them, dressed smartly in a suit and tie.

 

“Reservation for Mr. Hideki, I presume?” he asks, looking from L to Light and back.

 

L nods his assent, and the waiter leads them to a table near a bay window. It offers a view of all of the fine carriages parked outside, at least a hundred horses harnessed to them. Light thinks, perhaps with bias, that L’s carriage is still the finest.  

 

L pulls a chair out for Light and Light sits with a few quiet words of thanks. His role in this Courtship, being the Match, dictates a very particular set of behaviors. He or she who is pursued is expected to allow courteous attention from a Courting Suitor, so long as it falls within the boundaries of propriety. It is further expected, though not rule-bound, that a Match refrain from giving undue favors to their Suitor. In this instance, if Light were to reciprocate – hold _L’s_ chair for him, for example, or hold open a door, or some other such thing – he would be considered by most to be something of a wolf.

 

Equality is not something highly valued in Autumn Pass.

 

L takes his seat across from Light, and together they listen to the waiter’s unrestrained description of the chef’s specialties.

 

“What calls to you, Light?” asks L, as the waiter waits for their requests. “Choose anything your heart desires.”

 

Light’s eyes linger on L’s smooth, white neck and delicate lips.

 

“The braised venison, I heard from someone once, is quite good,” he says.

 

L laughs a bit, nodding. “It certainly is. I shall have the same.”

 

The waiter bows at them, murmuring his assurances that it shall be prepared to perfection, before he slips away.

 

“So, Light…how are you managing with _Acts of Contrition_ then?” asks L.

 

“I’ve finished it, actually,” Light tells him. He is proud of himself, and trying not to show it. The novel was complex, the vocabulary obscure, but Light persevered, and feels confident of his understanding.

 

“Ah, truly?” L asks. “Wonderful. Tell me, what did you think of it?”

 

“It was…magnificent. I….there were many times when I felt as if I could not put it down. Such horrific cruelty in Mrs. Hamm’s murder…the cold, calculating betrayal. And of course Judge Wertheimer’s brilliance… one wishes that all justice were dealt as swiftly, and as precisely. The bit about a victim’s voiceless cry, and the duty of survivors to avenge them…perfection.”

 

L is nodding along with all that Light is saying. “And Gregory and Wolfshire – you were quite right, you see?”

 

Light laughs, casting his eyes down to the white tablecloth. Several passages of their interactions implied that far more than a hand-holding took place between them. “I confess I was firmly in their corner by the end.”

 

“Poignant, is it not? That two people so independent and self-righteous should come together so quickly, and fit as if they were formed at birth to be lock and key?” L asks.

 

“Yes,” Light agrees. “And I got the feeling that, if they had never met, each of them would have lived out his days alone.”

 

“I think we may safely conclude that Walter Scott is a true romantic, mayn’t we?” says L with a little smile.

 

Light nods, realizing he is smiling back with ease.

 

Not long after, the waiter returns and their plates are set before them, piping hot and smelling delicious.

 

They eat with a companionable silence between them, neither of them given to speaking for the sake of speaking. Light hears the faint sounds of a piano’s tinkling keys from across the restaurant, possibly hidden in some corner he cannot see from his place here.

 

The peace does not go unchallenged.

 

When he will look back on the evening, Light will recall the interruption to be a tall, thin, snake of a man. At the present time, however, he sees only the tallness and thinness and the jet black, long hair. The man has a face that many would likely consider attractive, though Light cannot abide the cool arrogance in his eyes. He is averse to the set of his shoulders, and the way his nose seems to be held aloft, above everyone else in the vicinity.

 

“Light Yagami,” the man says, approaching their table unannounced. “I thought I recognized you. How charming to see a Tradesman’s son at Cheval Blanc…and dressed so finely at that. Perhaps you have your new Suitor to thank for it?”

 

“Do I know you?” Light asks. He makes no secret of his distaste for the specimen before him.

 

“Perhaps not, but I do know you. You’re Soichiro Yagami’s boy. And you…” the man turns to L, searching his face. “Oh, goodness. I don’t believe we have been introduced,” he says, voice dripping like burned oil. “Reiji Namikawa the Second.”

 

L doesn’t bother to return the introduction. “Can we help you?” he asks.

 

“Not at all. I just wanted to congratulate Light here on his frankly astonishing Match. But wait…”

 

Namikawa pauses. His eyes roam L’s face. “You cannot possibly be his Suitor.” He says it like he is _asking_ to be corrected.

 

L levels a flat stare in Namikawa’s direction. “And why, may I ask, should that be the case?”

 

Namikawa inhales sharply. “You _are_ ,” he says, full of naked surprise. “I suspect that as a foreigner, your customs may be quite out of line with our own, but I assure you, sir, that what you are doing at this very moment is out of the ordinary in the extreme. You are Matched to him, already, you see. There is really no reason to take him places, especially places as nice as this one.”

 

Light _burns_ at the condescension in Namikawa’s tone. L is smarter than ten of him, and worth far more besides.

 

L reacts to the disrespect with nothing but calm. He takes a bite of his food, chewing and swallowing and making Namikawa wait for his response.  

 

“I am quite aware, actually, of the practices of Matching,” he says mildly. “It seems you are not adept at spotting Courting when you see it.”

 

Namikawa stares in blank confusion at first, then his lips twist into something resembling amusement. “Courting? You can’t be serious, sir.”

 

“I am always serious,” L replies offhandedly, even though Light knows this not to be true.

 

“Your station, though….are you not aware that Courting is a practice devised by the lowborn?” asks Namikawa.

 

“And quite the practice it is,” L says, looking to Light and gracing him with a grin.

 

Namikawa looks back and forth between them, a strange mix of puzzlement and anger in his features.

 

“Thank you for the congratulations, such as they were,” Light says, hoping to end this intrusion as quickly as he can. He doesn’t even look at Namikawa as he speaks, preferring to see L instead. “Have a nice evening.”

 

“How _did_ you manage such a Match, by the way?” Namikawa asks, ignoring Light’s clear dismissal. He turns to L with a smile like razor blades. “Was he truly worth half of your estate? He _is_ pretty, I’ll admit, but - ”

 

“If you have something to say, say it,” Light says coldly. He doesn’t enjoy seeing the way that Namikawa looks at L: as if L is a stag waiting to be pierced through the heart with Namikawa’s arrow.

“Hmm…. how does one put this delicately?” Namikawa says to himself. “One wonders what words to use for this sort of thing. I’m simply wondering if you put yourself to work in exchange for the Offer, is all. I can’t say that I would blame you.”

 

Light can scarcely believe his ears. Throughout his life, people have been polite, even fawning, toward him. And now he has had two extremely unpleasant social interactions within the span of two weeks. “Excuse me?”

 

“You heard me,” Namikawa says blithely. “All the money you’d ever need and all you would have to do for it was go for a roll in the hay? Who _wouldn’t_ take that course?”

 

Light feels himself turn to ice. “Someone with a bit of self-respect. Not that I would expect you to understand such a concept.”

 

“Oh, you deny it, then?” Namikawa questions, all faux politeness and eyebrows inching toward his hairline. “How quaint. I wouldn’t say anything, you know. What use would it be to me to tell, after all? In fact…”

 

Namikawa bends at the waist and leans in a bit, toward Light. He is much too close for comfort.

 

“It isn’t as if you’re married yet. And you’re _Courting_ \- ha! - which is all the better, because it means you still have the chance to change your mind. And what if I can write a bigger cheque than he can?”

 

Before Light can vocalize his _vehement_ disgust at this idea, L stands up abruptly. Water glasses on their table topple a bit with the force of his movement.

 

“Not only did Light have no idea of my station before I made my Offer, but it was _I_ who avariciously pursued _him_. A Suitor, Gentryman or no, could not be Matched to anyone with more goodness, grace, and beauty than he. If anyone is unfairly lucky here, it is I. And he is _not_ on offer. Now leave us, Reiji,” he says. His face is a mask of hard lines and his eyes bore into Namikawa’s with a frightening intensity. “I won’t say it twice.”

 

Namikawa looks tempted to speak further. His mouth opens slightly, but L’s eyes narrow. People at the surrounding tables are taking note of the proceedings, and Light hears a few whispers. Mostly, though, he senses the ominous aura surrounding L. The air seems to crackle and shake around him. Namikawa appears to think better of saying anything else. He leaves without another word.

 

L waits for him to be seated at his own table once more before sitting down again. He takes up his fork.

 

Light can’t tear his eyes away from him. He is absolutely spellbound. It is as if iron chains keep both Light himself and his gaze rooted to the man before him.

 

“Though his words _were_ despicable and vulgar in the extreme,” L begins carefully, spearing a bit of venison on the tines of the fork, “If viewed in a certain light, they actually become rather flattering.”

 

Light searches L’s face, laughing a bit bemusedly. “Flattering to you or to me?”

 

L chuckles. “Well, to both of us, in a way. But I meant to you. Because you see, Namikawa - ”

 

“He Offered for me,” Light says, nodding. “and was rejected by my father. I supposed as much. It explains why he was so horrid.”

 

L nods back. “Yes. And clearly he is still bitter about that rejection. Which means that you have made quite the impression on him.”

 

“Whether I’ve made an impression or not, he’s run out of luck,” says Light. “As you said…I’m not on offer.”

 

Across the dining table, L’s eyes narrow with a particular kind of pleasure. “That you are not.”

 

Light cuts a bit of his venison, saying casually in its direction, “My father is a wise man.”

 

“To have rejected a Suitor like him? I should say so,” replies L. He drinks from his wine glass.

 

“Not only that,” Light says. “But to have accepted a Suitor like you.”

 

L smiles.

 

***

The carriage comes to a stop in front of Light’s home. He looks out the window and sees the house, the front yard, the stables…he realizes that this place won’t be his home for much longer. After he is married, L’s manor will be his new home forevermore. The thought is frightening because of its newness. It is also thrilling.

 

“I must apologize, Light,” Light hears L say. He turns his attention from the view outside and looks to L instead.

 

“Whatever for?” asks Light. He is completely at a loss.

 

L’s eyes are downcast. He looks disappointed, truly disappointed, without reservation. He seems almost childlike in his emotional honesty. “For choosing Cheval Blanc as our meeting place on this particular evening. The evening was supposed to be perfect, and it most certainly was not.”

 

“Are you referring to Namikawa’s unpleasantness?” Light asks. He thinks he knows that the answer is yes, but he wants the confirmation.

 

“What else?”

 

“L,” Light tries to assure him. “Namikawa didn’t ruin anything. The food was great, the atmosphere beautiful, the company – the company that matters – wonderful.”

 

“If I had prepared better – sent a scout to survey all the patrons beforehand, perhaps – none of Namikawa’s foul stench would have infected our meeting,” L says.

 

“L, surely it is not practical for you to do that every time you and I venture out someplace,” protests Light.

 

L levels a flat stare in his direction. It is answer enough to what Light said.

 

“Alright, you can afford it,” Light allows. “But my point stands: Namikawa did not ruin anything. If anything, he was a tool by which your strength was revealed to me this night. The entire object of courtship is to reveal greater and greater parts of our inner selves to each other, is it not? So that a fruitful marriage may be achieved? Well, then. I saw your strength tonight, and I saw that you keep it hidden until you actually have need of it. And do I seem dissatisfied in any way?”

 

“No, Light. But that part of me could have been revealed to you in a way that did not involve someone implying that you were a common whore. The evening did not proceed as planned, and I guess I am a little depressed. Is that so unreasonable?” L’s words take on a hard edge.

 

Light is reminded of L’s letter – the one in which he told Light of his self-described moodiness.

 

_When faced with significant hindrances to my goals, I can become downright sullen, sulk for hours (or even days), and do very little of anything that can be termed productive._

 

Light can see L’s behavior through the lens of stubbornness….one could almost accuse him of _wanting_ to be depressed, and ignoring certain facts to maintain that state of being. But another part of him – not his logic – can see past L’s behavior and to the roots that it springs from. And that part of Light reflects that, in truth, L is depressed because of an affront to Light’s honor. Also, he is depressed because he laid careful, ambitious plans for this evening’s perfection. Both of these strongly imply that L cares about Light. So instead of Light reacting to his possible stubbornness with anger, Light ought to react….some other way.

 

“It _is_ unreasonable,” Light says, softly. He stands up in the carriage, crouching under its low ceiling and coming over to L’s bench. He sits next to him, close enough that their thighs touch.

 

L looks over at him, the drooping disappointment in his eyes replaced with a kind of mild surprise.

 

“But it’s not wrong,” Light tells him. Then he leans in and presses his lips to L’s cheek.

 

When Light pulls back again, he sees two spots of color bloom on L’s otherwise pale face.

 

“When you think back on this evening, let it be my own impropriety that comes into your mind – not that of Reiji Namikawa. Think you can do that for me?” Light asks.

 

“But you have not _been_ improper, Light,” L argues, but his lips are turned up at the edges, and his eyes are dancing.

 

“At the very least, you must admit that I took a liberty there,” Light insists. 

 

“Hmm,” L murmurs. “I do believe that the taking of liberties is traditionally attributed to the Suitor of a courtship, not the Match.”

 

“Matches can certainly take liberties of their own, from time to time. Quite a few of them are rather like harlots, I’m sure.” Light says with mock carelessness. “Are you implying that you ought to have a liberty of your own, for fairness’s sake?” he asks. He had planned to sound teasing, or joking even, but his voice comes out much more serious than that.

 

L’s gaze drops to the place where Light’s lips are parted. Light watches him, wondering if he is indeed leaning forward, or if Light’s imagination is playing tricks on him. L’s eyes are coal-black, penetrating and focused. Light sees himself reflected in them, as if they are polished glass, and he both recognizes himself and does not.

 

They hear a knock on the carriage door.

 

“Um…Mr. Lawliet? Light?” comes Matsuda’s hesitant voice. “Soichiro will have my _head_ if you two stay in there much longer.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really don’t know why this chapter gave me such a difficult time. First it was coming along at a snail’s pace, then I lost a whole section and had to rewrite it entirely, and then I kept second-guessing every tiny detail. I don’t know. I’m still not entirely satisfied. If anyone has constructive criticism to offer, I would welcome it, as well as any comments or reactions!
> 
> Thank you so much for all of the support you readers have continued to show me….it is an honor, truly. 
> 
> And, as always, thank you, BC3. You’re so incredibly brilliant. <3
> 
> See you next chapter!


	10. Chapter Ten

_L,_

_I hope this finds you well, and safe. I have unexpectedly become accustomed to a letter of yours awaiting me after a meeting…if by some chance I caused you offence when last we parted, please accept my sincerest apologies. I endeavored to cheer you and in doing so, I see that I may have done the very opposite. It was not my place, I realize, to make such an advance toward you. I meant no indecency, nor rudeness. I only meant to give you the sort of gladness you give to me. And if there is some way that I may make amends for my behavior, do tell me with haste, so that I may rectify it._

_How are you keeping? How is your grandfather? I trust that he remains in good health?_

_Is your case progressing satisfactorily? Any progress from my side of things remains well hidden from me, I am afraid. There has been nothing noteworthy. This may be attributable to the fact that I have not had any opportunity for travelling away from home lately, save for our last adventure together._

_I am now pursuing another of the novels you lent me: The Red Country. I have only just begun it and have not progressed very far in the telling. The tale is much removed from Acts of Contrition in tone…this much I gleaned after only a few paragraphs. I have a suspicion that this tale will not end happily. _

_You have a variety of interests, it seems. You are quite adept in detective work, in dancing, in disguise….in Courting….and your novels suggest that even amongst what you read for pleasure, you require a diversity of topics for your attention to be held. Am I correct?_

_My mother and father tell me that I should have some afternoons free of planting and weeding (and most other tasks, as well) in the upcoming week. I am glad of the availability this presents, should you still wish to act on it._

_Your Match,_

_Light_

* * *

 

_Light,_

_I am quite well, thank you, and in far better spirits at this moment. The arrival of your letters always accompanies a certain lightness of the heart in me, you see…so much so that now the sight of one neatly pressed envelope bearing your handwriting makes me instantaneously cheered._

_That being said, for someone so clever, you are quite blind to certain things._

_Allow me to enumerate them. Are husbands not often chastised for over-blunt speech? As your husband-to-be (husband in training?), I feel entitled to at least this much:_

_Firstly, I must correct your mistaken impression that there is some possibility that you have offended me. You have not._

_You have given me cause to be many things, Light. You have made me pleased…intrigued… …confused, even, is something I shall admit to. You have made me feel like a man, in every sense of the word, and I pray that my saying so will not alarm you. You have made me discontented with my solitude, even. However, you have never given me reason to be offended. You are polite in the utmost, and unfailingly kind. So please remove the possibility from your mind. _

_Secondly, if ever you were to offend me, kissing me would not be the way to go about it, I promise you that. Most Suitors endeavor to find ways by which their Matches might be tempted or manipulated into such an activity. While I consider my morality to be worth preserving (and worth more to you, besides, than scandalous trickery), I cannot say that I am above the desire for such things._

_No…. the absence of my correspondence is simply due to an overly ambitious working schedule. You remember our discussion of our respective faults? I feel that this is something else I ought to warn you of before the altar: I work quite diligently. Perhaps that is an understatement. I work with a kind of mania unseen outside of honeybee colonies or anthills. I seldom sleep, and I eat while I work. In fact, I can honestly say that outside of our Courtship, I spend my waking hours doing nothing but work. If I am between cases, I do take to reading, or practicing my marksmanship, or musical study…. apart from those things, I am a detective, and nothing more. It pains me to say, though, that my work during these past days has yielded me no solid return. I have been chasing what I thought was a promising lead, only to end up at loose ends and down a rabbit hole._

_Grandfather is quite well, thank you. He sends his warm regards. He has also alerted me to something of which I was unaware. He tells me that it is traditional here for a couple in Courtship to attend one meeting together with the Suitor’s family present and one with the Match’s family present. And more than that, he says that you are welcome at our home for dinner at any time of your choosing._

_The Red Country is quite removed from  Acts of Contrition, yes. That is well-spotted. I cannot read it except during periods of melancholy – else my happier moods should be wiped away in one fell swoop._

_Your Suitor,_

_L_

_P.S. – Thirdly, of course I still wish to act on your availability, Light, you ninny. Honestly, you are utterly charismatic and your lips are unfairly inviting, besides. Do cease your unnecessary fretting. I wonder if you might enjoy a visit to Mansfield Park?_

* * *

 

_L,_

_You have certainly put me in my place! I shall endeavor never again to bear witness to any sort of the doubts I expressed previously. It is difficult, though, to see in myself that which you profess to see in me. I have many, many flaws, and constantly strive to better myself. And I am not naïve enough to think of marriage as something seamless, easily made and maintained, requiring neither compromise nor conflict. And our own will be no different. Do keep this in mind when first we argue, else you shall be greatly disappointed in me, and in the life we build together._

_I must again express to you your skill in persuasion, as well as your poetry. So many of your phrases imply to me that you have a great gift for communication. In fact, I feel confident in saying that you do. Your work as a detective is often the work of gathering operatives with the correct skill set to aid you in the case at hand, is it not? I think many assume detective work to be a lonely, solitary business. But in truth, you seem to constantly be in communication with members of a team. You become the orchestrator of an elaborate game with many players...perhaps the correct analogy would have you as the conductor of a grand ensemble.  And I remember your saying that you have never lost, and I well believe it. You demonstrate your competence in many ways, not least in your letters to me._

_In response to your contention that Suitors will often attempt to manipulate a Match into a kiss, I have only this:  do you not know that, sometimes at least, Matches surely desire a kiss themselves? I would be unsurprised to learn that many of them simply allow a Suitor to believe himself or herself to be the architect of some elaborate manipulation, when in truth, the Match has engineered far more of the activity than they care to admit._

_May I ask…now that you have had several days to reflect on our last meeting, what image does your mind brings forth when you recall it? What impression is cemented there behind your eyes? I feel the desire - no, the need - to know._

_Your grandfather’s offer is quite generous. Please convey my appreciation to him, and my assurances that I shall speak to Mother and Father about the most opportune time for such a meeting._

_Your Match,_

_Light_

_P.S. – Mansfield Park sounds divine, L._

_P.P.S. – I am not the only one with his share of charisma, or inviting features._

* * *

 

_Light,_

_We are all of us flawed…myself no exception. The key, I think, is not in finding flawlessness, but in finding the one whose flaws you enjoy. Or, in barring that, in finding one whose flaws you can tolerate. Or some mix thereof. As to the necessity of conflict and compromise in a marriage, I quite agree…there is a pragmatic realism to you that I find quite interesting, given that it is juxtaposed with a such pure idealism. I maintain that you are a romantic at heart, but you often stress the importance of accepting the difficulties of reality, too. But I digress…as to your point, I shall not be disappointed in you when first we argue, so long as you afford me the same consideration, as I am sure you shall._

_…your understanding of the work of detection is astounding for someone so untrained. I have tried to explain this to many of my operatives, only to be met with blank stares, or worse: instantaneous, scoffing disbelief._

_Are you quite sure that you wish to engender in me the kind of hope that your words concerning Matches do? For if you are not, Light, do not tease me so. I fear that with a mind like yours, a face like yours, and a spirit like yours, I shan’t survive being so near to a flame and not feeling that flame’s smoldering warmth. In the interest of honesty, I must tell you that I did not expect to be quite so….covetous…of you when I first made my Offer to your father. And now….now I am surely guilty of that sin._

_In answer to your question, the image cemented behind my eyes of our last meeting is undoubtedly the image of you leaning in close to me, pink lips parted as delicately as a rose, honey-brown eyes mischievous. And it is accompanied by the recollection of the softness of your mouth against my skin._

_I have conveyed your message to Grandfather, and he looks forward to news of when the three of us shall dine. As do I. Not only shall I have your company, I shall have the opportunity to show you the manor’s interior. As it is to be your home for the foreseeable future, I am glad of the chance to give you a bit of a tour. I hope that it shall meet with your approval._

_Your Suitor,_

_L_

_P.S. – Shall we say this Thursday afternoon, then, for our next meeting? The foliage, I’m told, is quite beautiful in May._

* * *

 

_L,_

_Propriety limits my response to your last letter, but I can safely say that you may rest assured of this flame’s true warmth._

_I shall see you this Thursday, Suitor mine._

_Your Match,_

_Light_

* * *

 

 

L steps out of the carriage wearing a grey coat and a blue scarf tucked neatly underneath it. His hair is being whipped this way and that by the wind, which blows fiercely. It bites at Light’s cheeks and pulls tears from his eyes.

 

“Boy, who would have thought it would be this cold today? I should have brought gloves!” calls Matsuda from the coachmen’s seat. He laughs, presumably at himself.

 

Light has no gloves of his own to bring – they are fairly expensive, being that they are almost always made custom. He did at least think to put two shirts on this morning, along with his coat. He sees that L does not wear gloves either, and he cannot understand why.

 

L extends his hand to Light, giving him a tiny smile and saying, “Good afternoon, Light. I trust you still wish to go, despite this chill?”

 

Light nods, sliding his hand into L’s grip. L’s fingers are warm despite the wind. “I wouldn’t miss it,” he says.

 

This answer seems to meet with L’s approval. “Nor I,” he says, and he opens the carriage door for Light to step inside.

 

Light puts one foot on the step, but L moves toward him quickly, halting him. He leans in to murmur into Light’s ear. “Ah, I should warn you that there is a bit of a…surprise….in the carriage.”

 

Light pulls back a bit to look at L’s face. He smiles uncertainly, eyebrows pulling together. “Indeed? A surprise that warrants your warning…should I be worried?” 

 

L chuckles. “Oh, undoubtedly.”

 

And Light instantly realizes just who he means.

 

He climbs into the carriage to find her there, sitting in the middle of one of the benches in a lavender dress.

 

“Hi, Mr. Yagami!” she exclaims, smiling widely. “We meet again. Ryuga said I could come along when I asked him. I hope that’s okay!”

 

“Hello, Miss Amane,” Light replies politely. He takes a seat on the opposite bench. Honestly, he feels much more comfortable with only L for company, but naturally he would never voice that. “Of course it’s alright…the more the merrier.”

 

Light has never once, in all his life, found this cliché to be true. But it seems the thing to say during times like these.

 

“Exactly,” Miss Amane says happily.

 

L follows Light into the carriage as she speaks. He sits down next to Light, surely closer than he would have when first they met. The carriage takes off smoothly.

 

“Misa is on a mission for me in Autumn Pass,” he says. “Isn’t that right, Misa?”

 

“Right!” Miss Amane nods, sitting up straighter and putting on an expression of unbreakable determination. “I’m going to be tailing Kiyomi Takada. Ryuga says she’s doing something suspicious, and I need to find out what. But I can’t let her know I’m following her, so I have to be _really_ careful.”

 

Light wonders at the wisdom of entrusting Misa Amane with something as serious and dangerous and spying on a potential murderess. But he supposes that her loyalty to L is unquestionable…it radiates from her the same way that Matsuda’s enthusiasm for life radiates from him.

 

“And that means doing what, Misa?” asks L.

 

“Being as inconspicuous as possible, of course,” answers Miss Amane, as if the question is unbelievably silly.

 

“Miss Amane is the ideal candidate for this reconnaissance,” L says to Light. “There are so few female agents to be had in the area, and a woman, particularly one close to Miss Takada’s age, will be able to follow her into places that would be off limits for a man.”

 

Light supposes that this is true…Autumn Pass is not known for any sort of gender equality. He can count on one hand the number of women that work outside of their homes for a living, and none of them are involved in anything relating to law enforcement.

 

“Don’t worry, Ryuga, I’ve got this A-okay and under control!” Miss Amane smiles broadly, and nods her head with a single, confident bob.

 

“Yes, well, we shall see, Misa,” says L, and she protests his doubt with an outraged, “Hey!”

 

L only smiles.

 

“You can’t let him boss you around when you’re married, Light,” she says to Light. “Ryuga’s got this alpha male thing that makes him think he always knows _everything_.”

 

“That is because I _do_ know everything,” L says evenly.

 

Miss Amane rolls her eyes. “You just keep telling yourself that, Mr. Oh-So-Great-Detective.”

 

Light watches their exchanges with bewilderment mixed with a kind of vague amusement. It is hard to imagine two more dissimilar people. Yet, somehow, he can see that their friendship is genuine.

 

“But that reminds me,” Miss Amane says suddenly. She looks from Light to L and back and again, examining them as if she is expecting to uncover something they are trying to keep hidden. “Are you two going to kiss and stuff in front of me?”

 

“What??” Light asks, taken by extreme surprise and as incredulous as he has ever felt. This woman surely cannot be familiar with Courting customs, if she thinks there is any possibility of such a thing occurring.

 

It is L’s turn to roll his eyes. “Don’t be absurd.”

 

“I wouldn’t mind, you know,” she says, blithely. “I feel like love should be celebrated! And it’s such a pretty day, when you ignore the cold. The perfect time for lovers. I don’t believe romance should be suppressed, you see.”

 

“But I believe your opinion should be, Misa,” L says bluntly.

 

“Hmph!” Misa huffs, mouth curving quickly into an obvious frown. “Lighten up, Ryuga!”

 

“In Autumn Pass, it isn’t really…customary…for a Courting couple to engage physically,” Light volunteers, hoping that this will calm Miss Amane’s insistence on discussing he and L’s activities, or lack thereof. He quickly finds that he is wrong.

 

“You mean you can’t even _kiss_?” she asks disbelievingly. Her mouth hangs agape at this idea. “But how are you supposed to know if you even like the person you’re Courting?”

 

L snickers at this. “There is such a thing as _talking_ , Misa, which some couples engage in from time to time.”

 

Miss Amane waves one hand in the air, as if to brush away L’s remarks. “Well, sure, but you have to see if there’s a _spark_ at least!”

 

Light has no idea what to say to this pronouncement. He already feels no doubt as to the presence of a ‘spark,’ at least on his end of things. And he thinks that Miss Amane is forgetting (or is unaware) that L and Light are technically already engaged. They were Matched before they were Courting, which means that whether a spark is there or not is, in some ways, irrelevant. Matches don’t marry for love, or even for liking. L could think of him no more fondly than he thinks of his coat, and still the marriage would be on. Adding Courting to the mix does muddy that proposition a bit, of course, but nothing about Courting means that the Match is nullified.

 

By contrast, L listens to her words and seems actually to be rather thoughtful.

 

“You know, Light…” he begins carefully. “You do still owe me that liberty from our last meeting. And perhaps I can take advantage of the fact that you will be reluctant to reject me in front of my subordinate.”

 

He follows this up with a cheeky, “Matches are supposed to encourage others to see their Suitors in as impressive a light as possible, are they not?”

 

“Hey!” Miss Amane shouts, indignant. “I’m not your subordinate! See what I’m talking about, Light?”

 

 _…he can’t possibly be serious,_ Light thinks, hardly able to listen to her words. _He can’t possibly mean to…for the first time….right here, in front of her…._

 

It turns out that L does _not_ mean to kiss Light. He reaches for Light’s left hand with his right, and holds it in his grasp. L’s hands are larger than Light’s, and long-fingered (what Light’s mother would call ‘pianists’ hands’), but with a tangible strength.

 

“Might this be acceptable to you?” L asks, lighthearted on the surface, but Light detects an underlying seriousness to his voice.

 

It isn’t against the rules…not technically, anyway. And there is a certain…warmth…in sharing L’s touch. The cuff of L’s coat brushes his wrist, and Light finds that it is soft and woolen.

 

Light nods. “It’s acceptable, L,” he says, and laces their fingers together.

 

Miss Amane beams. “Now that wasn’t so hard, was it?” she asks.

 

* * *

 

 

When they arrive at Mansfield Park, Miss Amane is the first one out of the carriage. She rockets out like a tiny, concentrated pellet of gunpowder and goes immediately to Matsuda, talking excitedly to him about how pretty the trees are and how green the grass. She leaves the carriage door ajar.

 

L lingers inside, and Light lingers with him. Their hands are still joined.

 

“I should tell you that I would prefer our meetings to remain just the two of us…insofar as they _can_ be just the two of us whilst adhering to the Courtship rules,” L says.

 

Light nods. “We are in agreement. Might I ask why Miss Amane asked to come along?”

 

L grins. “I do believe she desired the company of our chaperone.”

 

“She _said_ that?” Light asks, grinning back.

 

“Not in so many words, of course…but there were quite enough words for me to discern just where her interests lie. Misa is not subtle, you know.”

 

“Well, neither is Matsuda. You know he still goes on about how cute she is and how her eyes are like no one else’s and how she’s completely outside his station?”

 

“Hmmm, I see…” L murmurs. “Perhaps a second Courtship shall be on the horizon soon.”

 

Light laughs. “Perhaps it already is.”

 

“Well, in that case, Mr. Matsuda should be on his guard. If something offends Misa in any way, large or small, everyone in the vicinity shall know of it. She is small and blonde but quite ruthless in her own way.”

 

“I’m sure Matsuda can handle himself…he’s braver than he looks, I think,” says Light carelessly.

 

Suddenly, Miss Amane's face appears in carriage doorway. Her eyebrows draw together in exasperation. “Aren’t you guys coming? We aren’t spending the whole time in the carriage, you know!”

 

Matsuda stands behind her, rubbing the back of his neck and smiling sheepishly. “And I don’t think I can really say I’m chaperoning if I let you stay in there, either.”

 

* * *

 

 

The four of them make their way to the park entrance, L and Light walking side by side and Matsuda and Miss Amane behind them. As they go, Light tells himself that he does not miss the feeling of L’s hand in his. It is most impractical, he insists in his mind, and it would mark them out to anyone nearby as a Courting or a married couple.

 

There is a tall wrought iron gate at the entry point, with bars that run up and down its length. A matching fence runs around the whole of the park, keeping out wolves and the occasional catamount. The gate itself is closed, but as far as Light can tell, it is never locked. It is more ornamental than anything. The lower classes can mingle freely here, as no fee is charged for entrance. Light has seen members of the Gentry, even the aristocracy, visit on occasion, drawn by the park’s beauty. Whatever their station, Light believes that all humans feel a certain kinship with earth, water, wind, and sky - the things that sustain them.

 

 _If anything ought to be worshipped_ he thinks, _it ought to be those things. Not gods who can’t be bothered to show their faces to us._

 

Mansfield Park is a tapestry of nature. Inside, there are oak trees over a hundred years old and lush grasses and flowering bushes. They will be in bloom at this time of year, Spring well underway. The whole park will be alight with color. It is a common place for families and couples to wander through during free hours…even the elderly can sometimes be seen sitting on benches or walking slowly and carefully along the paths. Light has been here several times throughout his life, always with Mother and Sayu but occasionally with Father, too. Nearly all of the visits occurred when he and Sayu were children. They used to spend their time picking leaves from fallen tree branches, pretending they were gold coins and “buying” various sections of the park. Light always bought the square of land farthest from the entrance, where there was a wall made of black stone. It had a small stream near it, which trickled into a pond filled with red and gold koi, kept alive by donations of bread and lettuce from visitors. Oftentimes, a vendor or two will set up a cart inside, horse still harnessed to it, and sell things like hot cocoa in winter or iced tea in summer.

 

It is _so_ unseasonably cold today…the wind whips everything back and forth according to its whim. There is a heavy chill in the air, and Light wraps his coat more snugly about himself. It is the dying throes of Winter, perhaps. The last, desperate attempt of an icy, deadly season to survive.

 

L reaches the gate first and holds it open for Light. The gesture still sends Light’s heart into a minor panic, especially with Matsuda and Miss Amane watching.

 

“Thank you,” he tells L, as he steps through.

 

“My pleasure,” L replies. He follows Light through and leaves the gate to fall closed after him.

 

Behind them, Miss Amane and Matsuda erupt into not-so-subtle giggles. Light hears Matsuda whisper to her.

 

“See? I told you they were like this!” he says triumphantly.

 

“You were quite right!” Miss Amane whispers back, and opens the gate for herself to pass through. Matsuda does the same.

 

L is already strolling ahead blithely, not waiting for the two of them to catch up.

 

“You are aware, are you not, that we can hear you?” he calls over his shoulder. Light snickers, following him.

 

There is a very abrupt, telling silence from Matsuda and Miss Amane at that. Then Miss Amane shouts, “Stop butting in, Ryuga!”

 

As they walk along together, Miss Amane and Matsuda walk together too, far behind them. Matsuda can keep an eye on L and Light that way, as his chaperone duties require. Sometimes the park is not crowded enough to be considered truly “public,” and a chaperone’s presence was mandatory for Father to allow L to Court Light here. Light had laughed outright when he had insisted. _Who on earth would think of doing anything improper in a public park?_ Light had thought.

 

And L is nothing more than a perfect gentleman, anyway. Time and time again, he has shown himself to be resistant to anything but what is prescribed acceptable in the Courtship rules. Light sees no reason for his father to be so suspicious of him. Even if Light _wanted_ L to push the boundaries of propriety a bit, he never would.

 

Not that Light resents this fact. L is an upstanding citizen and Light would have him no other way. Or have him at all, because of the rules. Not that Light would wish such a thing before they were married. He is an upstanding citizen too, after all.

 

He and L talk of _The Red Country_ as they walk along. It is the story of a man doomed to die alone after he stumbles upon a cursed jewel. Once popular, kind, and beautiful, the man ages quickly with the jewel in his possession, and becomes crueler and crueler by the day. He loses his friends and family and wanders the earth, forlorn.

 

“I’ve reached the part where Mr. James sees his own reflection in the lake, and doesn’t recognize it,” Light says.

 

L nods. “The author is quite poetic there, I recall.”

 

Light agrees. “I’ve never cared much for poetry, but poetic prose is somehow very different.”

 

L makes a sound of assent. “I think the author _was_ a poet, before he penned his novels.”

 

Light looks back, seeing that Matsuda and Miss Amane have fallen quite behind them. He thinks that they are out of earshot. “Do you think that whoever is committing the murders looks at themselves as Mr. James does? After they first killed, they weren’t able to recognize their own image?”

 

“I suppose I could not say until I capture them, and learn what sort of man or woman they are,” L says. “But…I have often thought that some individuals who pursue the death of another _are_ irrevocably changed. They may have started their lives with spotless hearts, but end them with a soul like soot.”

 

“I can’t think that someone with a spotless heart could turn to something so evil. I think that murderers were always corrupt, and only hiding it,” argues Light.

 

“This is because you see the world in blacks and white, Light,” L says. “And I….I see in gray.”

 

They continue walking. Light looks up at L’s profile and sees that his eyes are cloudy with thought. He can think of nothing to say besides intrusive questions about L’s past: the sort of crimes he’s seen and the dangerous places he’s been and what happened to his parents.

 

Light holds his tongue.

 

As they walk, Light sees L’s scarf get blown out of place by the wind. Both ends of it flutter this way and that, doing no good in keeping L warm. L seems to pay it no mind, but Light cannot abide it.

 

He stops walking, and L is forced to halt too. He makes a questioning “hmm?” sound, turning to look at Light. 

 

Light steps in front of him so that he can take the ends of the scarf and tie them securely again.

 

“Your scarf came loose,” he says, by way of explanation.

 

“I see,” L replies. His eyes roam Light’s face before he tilts his chin up, letting Light work.

 

Light ties the thing very neatly indeed, forming a relaxed knot at L’s collar. He tucks the ends into L’s coat, and when he does, his fingers brush the skin at the base of L’s throat.

 

“There,” says Light. “All better.”

 

L tucks his chin back down again, looking at Light with bright eyes. “Indeed.”

 

Light maintains his gaze but cannot find any words with which to reply. He swallows, mouth suddenly gone dry.

 

“Shall we?” L asks, starting forward again.

 

Light nods, and they continue onwards.

 

They wander along the park paths, discussing the greenery all around them. L is particularly enamored of the ancient trees, seemingly fascinated by something that can survive for so long a time. He lays a hand on the trunk of one of them. The rough bark must surely be painful against palms as smooth as his.

 

“Do they become world-weary, Light?” L asks thoughtfully. “After standing upright for over a century? Aren’t they tired?”

 

“Perhaps they are…but surely standing is better than the alternative?”

 

“I think sometimes,” L murmurs. “That the oldest trees deserve to rest. They’ve done their part for the world, haven’t they?”

 

Light wonders at L’s strange and sudden mood and considers the possibility that he is sad, or perhaps under one of his occasional fits of melancholy. “It might be that they just…aren’t finished yet,” tries Light. “And they’ll stand a bit longer before they can lay down forever.”

 

L nods. “In any case, they are quite…majestic.”

 

Light agrees. They fought their way through life from the time they were mere seeds. They endured over a hundred icy winters, and a hundred blistering summers…droughts, floods….everything. And still they endure.

 

Light watches L watching the tree. His head is tilted back so that he can look up at the branches, covered all over with new leaf buds.

 

L’s scarf is untied yet again. The wind is stronger than Light had given it credit for. He was sure he tied it securely the last time.

 

Light takes L by the shoulders (surely shoulders are within the boundaries of respectability?) and turns him gently away from the tree trunk, so that Light can do up the knot again.

 

L gives him an expression of faint surprise at this before glancing down at his own chest.

 

“Oh dear, it seems to have slipped again,” he says, staring down at himself with painted-on sadness, as Light works on tying the knot. “Perhaps I am not meant to be warm today.”

 

“Don’t be silly, L,” replies Light. He shakes his bangs out of his eyes. “It’s just the wind’s doing, is all.”

 

“Hmmm…in any case, Light is quite willing to keep me warm, it seems,” L remarks. He looks at Light from under his eyelashes with a petite leer.

 

Light finishes with the scarf. His eyes glare at L but his lips smile broadly. He gives himself permission to speak in a voice that is a shade huskier, a shade more masculine, when he replies, “L, you utter _wolf_.”

 

His hands linger on the lapels of L’s coat. Light feels a wild sort of daring race through him. This would be, without doubt, a moment that only barely complies with Courtship etiquette.

 

L is watching him with a newfound gravity in his eyes. “Perhaps we ought to continue on, before you find yourself a lamb?” he asks.

 

Light’s heart slams against his sternum at that. It is all he can do to nod agreeably, when every breath he takes urges him to continue this dangerous game they play, and see what will transpire. He brings his hands back to himself, tucking them into his pockets.

 

They start again, making their way to the clearing of wildflowers in the middle of the park. Whites and reds and oranges and purples and pinks spill out across the grass. The flowers form waves like an ocean as the wind pushes them left and right and left again.

 

“Take a look behind us, Light,” L says, looking back over his shoulder. Light copies him and sees that Matsuda and Miss Amane are quite far behind them indeed. Matsuda does not look to be concerned in the slightest with what L and Light are doing. In fact, he is not looking at them at all. His gaze is turned to his left, where Miss Amane is talking animatedly. Matsuda’s expression does nothing to hide how completely besotted he is.

 

Light gives a disbelieving sort of laugh. “He seems quite worried about you and I, doesn’t he? Watching us with a hawk’s eyes, surely.”

 

L grins. “I confess I rather saw this coming, and took advantage of the situation.”

 

Light turns to L, half appalled and half impressed.

 

L chuckles outright at his expression. “You see, I allowed Misa to accompany us _for_ Mr. Matsuda’s sake. And hers as well, clearly. Just look at the two of them together.” He gestures behind himself. “And Mr. Matsuda’s distraction affords us a bit more…space…which I know you prefer, if only for the sake of your privacy, which you guard dearly.”

 

Light cannot fault him for speaking the truth. He feels emboldened enough to diffidently ask, “And you, L? What do you gain from Mr. Matsuda’s distraction?”

 

L meets his eyes unrepentantly. “Well…surely Light would not judge a Suitor harshly for carving out a bit of isolation for he and his Match, so long as it fits the boundaries of decorum?”

 

Light feels the weight of L’s self-assurance like melting toffee in his stomach. It settles there and heats him from the inside out. “I can’t say that I would, L,” he says. “I can’t say that I would.”

 

* * *

 

 

They have not walked even ten minutes more before Light sees L’s scarf untied _again_.

 

“Oh, my stars, look at that,” L remarks, looking down at himself. “It seems to have happened again, Light.”

 

He goes to stand directly in front of him and holds his chin up expectantly. “We ought to charge this wind a fine for his mischief, oughtn’t we?”

 

Light takes the end of the scarf in his hands and sets about tying the most secure knot he can think of. “I’m beginning to suspect that it is not the wind at all, and that you are undoing it on purpose, L,” he teases idly.

 

“Oh? Whatever should make you think that?” L replies serenely. He remains standing in front of Light with a lazy confidence, chin still tilted up, neck exposed plainly.

 

And Light realizes exactly what is going on.

 

“You _are_ doing it on purpose,” he says wonderingly. He lets go of the scarf with one hand and smacks L’s shoulder lightly.

 

L tucks his chin down again, looking at Light normally. “So you figured it out…hmmm, well, what am I to say? I am too quickly spoiled for your touch.”

 

_How can one man be filled with the combined charm of a hundred others? It is not to be believed._

 

“L….” Light says, resuming tying up the scarf. “You don’t have to get it that way.”

 

When he is done, he takes L’s hand in his, Light’s right hand inside L’s left. L smiles, and they walk onward through the park this way. Light realizes that within mere months, when he holds L’s hand, he will feel a wedding band there on L’s ring finger.

 

_And a matching one on my own._

 

* * *

 

 

As they walk, an elderly woman stands up from a nearby bench. Her hair is purely white and drawn up into a tightly-wrapped bun at the base of her neck. She has a face full of deeply etched wrinkles. They are especially pronounced around her mouth.

 

She approaches L and Light, gravel crunching harshly under her heeled boots. She wears no overcoat, and in this chill, she must be freezing. She shows no sign of it.

 

Light looks to L, wondering if perhaps this another of his agents, but L does not show any hint of recognition. He watches the woman with a kind of stillness about him. Light feels it radiate from their joined hands. He would not let go of L’s hand now even if L asked him to.

 

The woman’s voice, when she speaks, is just as harsh as the gravel under her feet.

 

“Courting, are you, then?” she asks.

 

Light raises his chin fractionally and meets her eyes. “We are. May we help you?”

 

L says nothing, but watches the proceedings closely.

 

“You might say that,” the woman says. She lifts her hand, and Light sees what is held within it: a single black, ostrich feather. It is huge and somehow menacing in her grasp.

 

“Accept this, as a token of my wishes for your future together,” she says, holding the feather out to L. He stares at it, taking it with a detached, automatic sort of gesture.

 

“Why on earth would you give us such a thing?” Light demands. What business is their Courtship of hers? And why should she wish them ill?

 

“I follow the gods’ will. They will see to it that those who ought to be paired _will_ be paired. And those who defy their expectations for marriage will be punished,” she says. “Most severely.”

 

“Do the gods not proclaim that those who spread malevolence will be punished most severely of all? Do they not desire good will be passed from man to man on this earth?” argues Light. He cannot stomach this treatment. Not when it is wholly unwarranted. “We defy _no_ expectations. None.”

 

“You defy the expectations of station. And I shall not debate the will of the gods with the likes of you,” says the stranger, with a damning sort of finality, before she turns and walks away.

 

L remains silent throughout of all of this. When the woman is finally out of sight, Light turns to him and sees that he is bone-white. The feather is held loosely in his grasp. L’s eyes are focused in the middle distance, looking at something that only he can see there.

 

Light takes the feather from him and throws it to the ground with a deliberate negligence. It barely skims the air, how heavy is it, and falls a few feet away. Light does not look back at it.

 

Still, L does not speak.

 

“L, come now,” Light urges, pulling him forward by the hand. “Never mind that old witch.”

 

L follows, but only belatedly.

 

Light tries to inject some life into him by asking, “There are busybodies everywhere, aren’t there? Never minding their own business and always poking their noses into someone else’s. We are glad to be rid of her.”

 

“Busybodies…yes…” L murmurs, sounding unconvinced. When Light looks at him, his eyes are still far away.

 

“L, what on earth is the matter? Surely you do not take that hag’s words seriously, do you?”

 

“It isn’t her words that perturb me,” says L, in the same low murmur. “It is the token.”

 

“The feather?”

 

“Precisely,” L says on a deep exhale. He finally makes eye contact.

 

“Why should that disturb you? I mean…I know it’s a bad omen, but those are only superstitions,” Light protests. “It doesn’t really mean anything.”

 

“Usually I would agree with you,” says L. “But Light….” He sighs and doesn’t continue.

 

“…what is it?”

 

L doesn’t look at him when he begins again. “When Amra was dying, especially near the last days of her life, she was delirious. And over and over, she would talk about a black feather. You can see how now I would be…unnerved…by that token.”

 

Light feels a kind of helplessness. He can understand, now, but he can find no words of comfort. Except to say, “I see. But in the end…it can only be coincidence. Nothing more.”

 

“And if we take into account the attempt on your life?” L demands, looking at Light once more, black eyes boring into his. “Am I to write this off, call it coincidence, even then?”

 

“Yes, L. Yes, you are. It _is_ coincidence. An attempt was made, and you foiled it. Amra wasn’t killed; she became ill. It was tragic but it was no one’s fault, least of all yours. And you’ve already saved my life. Give no more thought to the cruelty of that woman’s token.”

 

L sighs. “I suppose I have no choice in the matter, do I?”

 

Light nudges L’s side with his elbow. “No choice at all. Are Matched husbands not rumored to be unbearably bossy? And am I not your Match?”

 

This earns Light a smile.

 

“You are indeed,” L says.

 

They make their way to the wall of black stone in the back of the park. Light can hear water falling into the koi fish pond, and the occasional splash from one of koi’s tails. Someone must have come along recently and fed them, if they are this active.

 

“There you have it, then. And never mind her ridiculous claims about ‘the expectations of station.’ One’s station ought not matter for any sort of relationship. Surely not a Courtship, no matter what the protocols might have society believe.” Light tells L confidently.

 

“Of course I do agree,” replies L, following Light’s lead around the bend of the path they take. They are very near to the stone wall.

 

“The Courtship protocols weren’t designed for people like you and I, anyway,” Light tells L confidently. “We don’t need to be told to control ourselves. We would do so anyway, because of our inner natures and standards. It could be that privacy between us were allowed at every stage of our meetings – that needn’t mean that we act lasciviously. We are both of us honorable men, after all. Perhaps lesser individuals would need outside sources to put controls…or place limits…on their behaviors. But not you and I.”

 

“You are right,” says L thoughtfully. He pauses in front of the stone wall, drawing Light to a stop. “You _are_ right. The rules are unnecessary for us. Ridiculous, even. Why, suppose I did this - ”

 

He leans forward, caging Light in between himself and the stone wall. He rests one of his hands against it, near to Light’s hair, and the other he slides into his own breeches pocket.

 

“ - what harm could possibly come of it, I ask you?”

 

“Indeed. What harm could come of it?” Light agrees. His eyes are pulled to L’s thin, delicate lips.  “It isn’t as if we are even touching, and surely if left alone we should have the sense and self-control not to…act unwisely.”

 

“And even if I took a step closer,” L continues, and does so. His chest can only be a few scant centimeters from Light’s now. “Even if I do this, we should still have our wits about us…shouldn’t we?”

 

He is close enough that Light could count his eyelashes, if he cared to. They are thick, and long as a young foal’s. Light realizes that he has no idea what to do with his hands, and that the most natural place for them to go seems instinctually to be around L’s neck. Or his waist. Both of which would be strictly off limits. He keeps them flat against the wall behind him, and the coldness of the stone is a stark contrast to the heat of his blood.

 

“We should, yes…surely we should…” Light says, trying to maintain the thread of their conversation.

 

L is watching him, and with every passing moment, his gaze seems to increase in intensity. The blackness of his eyes makes it impossible for Light to tell where his iris ends and where his pupil begins. Every breath between them is a shared breath…every inhale brings them that much closer to touching. Suddenly, L’s pink tongue darts out, licking at his lips, and Light is mesmerized by it until it is again hidden away. L’s eyes call him back.

 

The eye contact between them is nearly too powerful to endure, but Light holds on, as if his life depends on it. L is saying nothing to him, and still saying everything. And, oh, but does Light listen. He craves more of this kind of silent communication.

 

And L looks ready to give it. His head tilts ever so slightly to the right. His gaze begins to dart between Light’s eyes and his mouth and back again. He is assessing, calculating, measuring angles and trajectories but also Light’s readiness…Light’s acceptance….

 

There is an infinitesimal pause, during which even the chatter of the birds overhead does not reach Light’s ears. There is only this – the roaring of his own pulse in his ears. This, and the perfect, beautiful, sweet sight of L leaning in….Light’s eyes slide closed without his conscious consent. He is the Match, and he will wait patiently for his Suitor’s next move….

 

“Ah…perhaps the rules have some merit after all,” he hears L say quietly. His voice is murky with something unnamable.  His words break whatever swirling mist of magic enveloped them there, and he goes no further.

 

Light opens his eyes…tries to catch his breath.

 

L moves back and turns away, saying in a louder voice that is much more like the one he normally uses, “Come, Light…let us visit that vendor there. I want to show you the joys of iced lollies. I suddenly crave something…juicy.”

 

* * *

 

 

Iced lollies turn out to be made of fresh fruit speared through on wooden skewers and frozen in ice boxes. The vendor they visit clearly planned for this Spring day to be warmer than it turned out to be.

 

Light had had reservations about the wisdom of eating something frozen on such a chill day, but L had easily convinced him to try it.

 

“Come now, Light, live a little,” he had said, before taking a long lick.

 

It was this, more than L’s words, that pushed Light in the direction of trying it. The strawberries on his skewer began to thaw easily after a few tastes, and were soon melting with rich juice. Light’s lips and tongue were numb with the cold, but the flavor was worth it.

 

“There you guys are!” they hear Matsuda shout. Light turns to see he and Miss Amane running in their direction, cheeks red.

 

“We were looking all over for you two!” Miss Amane exclaims. “Isn’t it against the rules for you guys to sneak off?!”

 

“We were certainly not sneaking anyplace, Misa,” says L calmly. “We merely assumed that you and Mr. Matsuda would have a vested interest in following closely behind. Clearly that assumption was mistaken.”

 

Matsuda’s cheeks turn an even brighter red. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Lawliet! I just…well, that is, we didn’t - ”

 

“You don’t have to apologize to this guy, Matsu,” Miss Amane says stubbornly. “Hmph. It’s none of his business, anyway,”

 

L beams. “Perhaps you are correct, Misa. I shall leave the subject there. Perhaps you and Mr. Matsuda would like an iced lolly as well?” he asks, holding up his own snack for them to see.

 

While Matsuda pays the vendor for two more iced lollies, Miss Amane reveals something that gives both L and Light pause.

 

“This park sure is something! Did you guys see that grandmother in the boots? She was walking around without even a coat? She’s all the way from Golden Apple! She goes to the church there _every_ Sunday. People says she’s more devout than the pastor! Anyway, Mansfield Park must be really popular if even people from my town make visits!”

 

L and Light look at each other immediately after this pronouncement.

 

“She is well-known in Golden Apple, you say, Misa?” L asks.

 

“Oh, sure. Everyone goes to church, don’t they? She’s always there,” answers Miss Amane. “And she volunteers in the church, too.”

 

“This case is bigger than I suspected,” L mutters.

 

“Huh? Ryuga, you think she’s involved in something?” Miss Amane asks.

 

“I do…keep an eye out for her, wherever you go. Report her movements to me in the usual way. In the meantime, your primary focus must remain on Kiyomi Takada. Alright, Misa?”

 

Miss Amane nods. “Well…I don’t get why you’re saying it, but if that’s what you want, Ryuga, I’ll do it.”

 

L nods. It is clear to Light that his thoughts are elsewhere.

 

Matsuda returns to them, passing an iced lolly to Miss Amane. “Are you guys all set to take Light back home? I think it’s almost curfew for him.”

 

* * *

 

 

On the way back home, Miss Amane sits in the front of the carriage with Matsuda, next to him on the driver’s bench. This leaves L and Light alone in the carriage, which Light is grateful for. He is more at ease with only L for company, and though there is a tension between them, it is of a variety that Light quite enjoys.

 

“This means the murderers could be all the way in Golden Apple, right?” Light asks, when the carriage takes off. “Or, at least, that they could have accomplices there?”

 

“It’s possible,” says L. “All things are possible, until they are not.”

 

Light ponders this. “As long as we continue in that vein…maybe it isn’t that the murderer has accomplices there. Maybe it’s just the churches…maybe they are coordinated somehow.”

 

“You hit the nail squarely on the head, as usual, Light,” L says wryly. “That is a definite possibility. Part of me wishes that you were not so acute in your analysis of things.”

 

Light blinks. “Why would you wish that?”

 

“Because if you were more obtuse, you would be less of a target. Any criminal wants to get his hands on someone who has figured out their secret.”

 

Light lifts one shoulder in a shrug. “Maybe, but surely my mind protects me too. I shouldn’t walk headlong into a trap if I keep my eyes open. And really, I haven’t solved anything. You’ll surely solve it before I come close.”

 

“I would not be so sure of that, if I were you. Do not let your past dictate your future. Educated or no, you would be an asset on any investigation,” L says gently.

 

“That’s kind…thank you,” Light replies quietly.

 

During the rest of the trip home, they discuss various other possibilities for the case. Light feels his brain actually push itself to keep up with the speed of L’s inferences, and the way he leaps from one small fact to the inference that follows logically from it. At times he has to ask L to elaborate on his reasoning, but L shows no impatience for this. And when Light is able to actually finish a sentence for him, L seems somehow very pleased.

 

When the carriage pulls to a stop, Light is more reluctant than ever to step out of it. His pulse is a drumbeat impossible to ignore as he sits on the cushioned carriage bench, and he doesn’t yet know why.

 

“Did you enjoy yourself, Light?” L asks.

 

Light nods, mustering his nerve before saying, “I’m beginning to wonder if I am ever _not_ to enjoy a meeting with you.”

 

L gives him a sideways smile. “Is that so? Well, the feeling is mutual.”  

 

L reaches for his hand, and Light gives it easily, feeling an aching softness when L gives the back of it his customary kiss.

 

“I shall write you,” L says afterwards, straightening up again. “Until we meet again.”

 

Before he has the opportunity to talk himself out of the act, Light scoots to the edge of his seat, leaning far forward. He presses his lips to L’s cheek – keenly aware that this time he is doing it out of a purely selfish desire. There is no convenient excuse of L’s despondency to cover him now.

 

When he pulls back, Light forces himself to meet L’s eyes. He is reasonably certain that L will not be anything other than accepting, perhaps a bit pleased, but he needs to _see_ it for himself.

 

“Until we meet again, then,” Light says, voice much softer than he intended. He remains very close to L. There is less than a hand’s breadth between them.

 

L’s eyes search his own. There is a glow to them, but also a reserve, like banked fire.

 

“I fear that I shall overstep my bounds,” L says.

 

There is a thrumming between he and Light, like that of violin strings recently plucked, vibrations left to linger in the air.

 

“Can we not make our own boundaries?” asks Light.

 

They share a moment of silence, eye contact unbroken, before L warns, “I will take any lack of rejection as an assent.”

 

Light keeps himself carefully motionless.

 

L’s gaze rakes back and forth across his features before he takes Light’s cheek in his hand. Light feels every fingertip like a brand on his skin. The touch snatches his breath and takes it swiftly away, gone in an instant, and not missed.

 

Light knows what is coming. He _knows_ and he _wants_. He can think of nothing but the approaching moment. And how long must he wait for it…how much more can the string of time stretch between them until it snaps?

 

And then L moves in, and the last thing Light sees are L’s eyes slipping closed, lips parted ever so slightly, before his own eyes shut.

 

And then L’s lips are against his, the barest hint of pressure there, like the brush of a rose petal on one’s palm, or the softness of falling rain. Light has never known such tenderness. It is exquisite. He knows not what he ought to do, only that he ought not pull away.

 

L’s hand on his cheek directs him just slightly to the right, and the angle at which they meet shifts. The difference is perfectly arranged, perfectly sound. L’s lips are smooth and fine. Even with this most delicate of contact, Light feels a stirring within himself. There is something waking up inside of him – the opening of a long-dormant seed, which yearns for sunlight and water now that the possibility of life beckons.

 

 _My whole life has changed_ Light thinks, knowing it with complete certainty. He covers L’s hand with his own and presses their lips tighter together as much as he dares.

 

L is the first to pull back, and when he does, Light opens his eyes.

 

L is beautiful before him…too beautiful. His eyes are brighter than stars, color high on his cheeks. Light wants the image of him burned into his memory, fierce and vivid.

 

“Please tell me now if I am the only one of us moved by that,” L says, heartbreaking in his honesty.

 

Light shakes his head, beyond even the most rudimentary poetry right now. “You are not the only one.”

 

L exhales, short and quick, nodding. Then, he bursts into a laughter that Light has never heard from him before: full of joy and unhindered by any darkness.

 

Light laughs with him. There is too much happiness in his soul right now to do anything but that. Laughter is the only way to let it out. Nothing is funny, but everything is bright.

 

They watch each other, smiling and unable to stop, as childish as either of them have surely ever been.

 

“Am I allowed to repeat that when next we meet?” L asks.

 

“If you don’t, I shall be angrier than I can say,” Light assures him.

 

L’s smile grows impossibly wider.

 

“I should ask you to repeat it here and now, if not for Matsuda and the curfew,” Light goes on.

 

L’s eyes soften. “Savor the anticipation of it, then, as I shall, in turn.”

 

Light nods. “I think I can do that,” he says. He must pull his next words out by the strength of his will, lest he remain here in this carriage, with L, forever. “Until we meet again, then….goodnight, L.”

 

“Goodnight, dear Light,” says L in return.

 

They share one final glance, and then Light forces himself out of the carriage, and back home.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I have had the general plot of this thing mapped out almost from the start, far more specifics have been filled in now. I am even more excited to write future chapters! The next three, specifically, have been plotted out in a fair amount of detail….and anyone curious to see the inside of L’s manor will have their curiosity sated. 
> 
> I made a rough estimate of the overall length of this thing when it’s all said and done and…it kind of terrifies me, as I have never written anything even close to this long before. However, all of your comments and kudos and reviews and favorites have been so kind – this writer is truly lucky! Thank you also to those who encouraged me despite my dissatisfaction with the last chapter and those who offered constructive criticism – it was helpful! And thank you especially to those who have left comments and reviews so consistently!
> 
> BC3, so much of this story is inspired by the path of our own love story…never let it be said that I am not grateful for it, and for you, every day. I’m sure you see all that is autobiographical in this.
> 
> Also, if anyone is wondering why Soichiro is now suspicious of L when in the beginning he was very trusting of him (or at least trusting enough to entertain his Suit), there are two reasons. One, I think that emotionally Soichiro is not ready yet to let Light go, and his fear of losing Light is manifesting itself as fear of Light’s virtue/honor/reputation being “ruined.” Two, I think that SEEING L and Light together has shown Soichiro (and everyone else who has witnessed the energy between them) that they have quite a lot of UST. Lol And Light does not understand or realize how obvious the tension between he and L is to other people. (I don’t think L realizes it, either.) When my girlfriend and I were first dating, we thought we were so subtle and skilled about hiding it. Not so much. Everybody knew. Everybody.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of this chapter! 
> 
> The next installment is underway…see you there!
> 
> \- Magic


	11. Chapter Eleven

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A note on pronunciation (for those who, like me, do not speak a lick of German): 
> 
> “enkel” = ON-clay (as near as I can approximate it for native English speakers)
> 
> “Lajos” = LY-ose (again, as near as I can approximate)
> 
> If I’m reading something with unfamiliar terminology, I always appreciate it if the author gives me a pronunciation guide, so as to preserve the rhythm of their words. 
> 
> Germany as a nation or German as a language do not exist in the world of this story, of course. No places from our world do. However, I have been borrowing from numerous cultural traditions and I fancied the melody of these words/names. “Enkel” translates to “grandson” and “Lajos” is a male name meaning “famous warrior.”

L’s manor is two stories, and massive. Light is only able to see the ground floor, as L taking him to the upstairs (where the bedrooms are located) would be the height of impropriety. But the ground floor alone is impressive. When Light arrives at the manor for dinner with L and his grandfather, L gives Light a tour with pride evident in his voice. They begin at the foyer, with its high ceilings and marbled floor. A huge silver chandelier hangs above them there, a hundred crystals dangling from it and bouncing rainbows of light around the place. From there, L leads him to a parlor filled with plush chaise lounges, rich carpets of red and gold, and rows upon rows of bookshelves, filled with too many books to possibly count.

 

Light runs his fingertip along the spines of some of them, awed at just how _many_ there are.

 

There are depictions of various gods, too, some painted in watercolor and some in opulent oil. The paintings hang at even intervals along one wall, four in total. Their colors coordinate so well with the furnishings in the room that Light does not immediately notice them. When he does, he appreciates their beauty.

 

L stands behind him, no doubt watching him watching the paintings.

 

“Courage, wisdom, justice, and peace,” L says, indicating each painting in turn. The gods of each virtue are depicted individually.

 

Light nods. “Do you have a painting for each of the ones you have mastered?” he asks, looking over his shoulder at L and allowing himself a bit of a grin.

 

“More like…reminders,” says L, with wry humor. “For constant practice. You are too kind.”

 

Light laughs to himself. What he said feels like no more than the truth.

 

“I saw the Books of Truth on your shelves as well, though,” he says, referring to the three books bound in silver and titled in gold. Light read of them during his Schoolhouse days. They represented the teachings of foreign religions, which pastors always taught him were blasphemous to the gods. Unconvinced of gods themselves, Light took these teachings with more than a few grains of salt. He turns around, meeting L’s eyes squarely. “Are you not committed to any one faith?”

 

“There is truth to be found all over the world…and lies. I try to my best to sort the wheat from the chaff,” answers L. “I think that a certain…independence of thought…is desirable.”

 

Light could not agree more.

 

“I am still unable to reconcile the contradictions inherent in any religion I come across,” he murmurs. It feels like a shameful thing to admit, so deeply rooted is Church custom in him, despite his lack of belief.

 

Fortunately, L does not seem to see any shame in it, himself. “I have found that the higher powers are not something I believe in so much with my head as with my heart,” he says. He comes closer, so that he and Light are side by side in front of the paintings. They look upon them together.

 

Light nods. L’s presence is clear in his peripheral vision. “That is the only explanation I have been able to rationalize for faith. The difficulty, for me, is that I do not feel it. I never have,” he says, quietly.  

 

“Perhaps one day, then,” L says, eyes on the artwork. “With time.”

 

“And if I never do?” Light asks, keeping his eyes carefully trained on paintings too.

 

“Then there are far worse things to be afflicted with,” answers L, with a kind of playfulness. “than doubt.”

 

He turns his head to Light, and Light does too, meeting his gaze. He has to look up to do so, as L is taller, especially in his heeled boots. They watch each other silently for a few beats.

 

“Hello, Light,” comes a deep voice from behind them. Light turns to see L’s grandfather standing in the parlor doorway, smiling beneficently. “How nice to see you again.”

 

“Hello, Mr. Wammy,” he says, with a small bow. Light doesn’t know how formal he ought to be, and had decided that it was better to err on the side of too formal than too familiar. “It is nice to see you again, as well.”

 

“I do believe dinner is prepared, and the table set, L,” says Mr. Wammy. “Shall we move to the dining room?”

 

Light can certainly smell something delicious wafting in from the direction of what must be the kitchens.

 

“Ah, indeed?” asks L. “Splendid.” He offers Light his arm. “Shall we, then?”

 

Light nods, slipping his hand into the crook of L’s elbow. Together, they follow Mr. Wammy into the largest dining room Light has ever set foot in.

 

It is done up in silvers and blues, with gray wallpaper all around. The wallpaper is an extravagant luxury, something Light has only ever heard tell of, never seen with his own eyes. It is dominated by a mahogany table long enough to seat twelve. There are four huge candelabras set upon it, lighting up the whole room. In between these are a platter of browned meats, a bowl of corn, baskets of bread rolls, and a dish of salad. There is also a bottle of red wine in a bucket of ice, with three crystal goblets next to it.

 

Mr. Wammy takes his place at the head of the table. L sits to his right, and holds out the chair next to him for Light.

 

“Chef Louie has truly outdone himself tonight, I believe,” says Mr. Wammy. He shakes out a cloth napkin and sets it neatly into his lap.

 

Uncertain of the customs shared between L and Mr. Wammy when they are in their own home, Light can only copy. He places his own napkin into his lap, wondering if he ought to do the serving. Usually those with lowest station at a table are expected to serve, but he is also a guest, which means that him serving might be taken with offense.

 

“Grandfather and I have always been something of non-traditionalists at meals, Light,” L explains, reaching across the table for a roll. “No ceremony here, I’m afraid. Feel free to take what you like. Oh, look…veal tonight.”

 

Light watches as Mr. Wammy spears some of it and puts it onto his plate, along with a bit of salad. He has never seen dinner be quite so…casual. It is both bewildering and liberating.

 

He reaches for a roll, glancing at L and Mr. Wammy, half expecting them to burst into laughter and declare the whole practice a joke.

 

They don’t, though. Dinner really is a calm, easy affair. The food is delicious, and Light is not surprised in the slightest.

 

“L,” he asks, pouring himself a glass of wine. “How is the case? Have you anything new?”

 

L sighs deeply. “Yes…though I wish I did not.”

 

Light’s eyebrows draw together. “What makes you say that?”

 

“There has been another murder,” L says.

 

Light feels his lips twist into a grimace. “Who was it?”

 

“A baker…he was already made a widower some years ago, and he is survived by three young children. His death is on my shoulders.”

 

“L…” Light protests. “His death is on the culprit’s shoulders…no one else’s.”

 

“I might have prevented it, had I solved this case already. It is bigger than I expected. Misa showed me that at Mansfield Park, that day. I need to get to the bottom of things. Quickly. Or his death will not be the last. Those children will not be the only orphans created by this evil.”

 

Mr. Wammy puts one hand on L’s shoulder. “The children shall be taken care of…remember that. We have funds set aside for that very purpose.”

 

“It is not enough,” L says, quiet but certain. “Nothing can give them back what they have lost.”

 

“I know you feel for them, L,” Mr. Wammy says softly.

 

L sips his wine, eyes trained on his plate. Light senses a careful composure in his bearing.

 

“You know that I really don’t need to hear - ” he begins, acutely aware of what they both must be thinking of: L’s parents. Light can feel the unspoken words hanging in the air around them – the story of how they passed – and he does not want the pain of this topic to be brought to the surface. He would rather not hear the tale, if it meant causing L that kind of hurt again.  

 

But L interrupts him. “No,” he says, still not meeting anyone’s eyes. “You ought to hear it.” 

 

Mr. Wammy is watching L with obvious concern. “ _Enkel_ , perhaps another time would be - ”

 

Light does not recognize the word Mr. Wammy uses to address L. It sounds completely foreign, and Light guesses, from the way that Mr. Wammy’s eyes soften, that it is a kind of endearment. He also senses that the term has been used for many years between them. L does not show any kind of surprise at it.

 

“No,” L says again. “If anyone ought to hear the story, surely he should. If you would tell it, please, Grandfather?”

 

Mr. Wammy sighs, ruffling his considerable gray mustache. “As you like, then.”

 

Light has the sudden urge to take L’s hand. He resists it, swayed by the presence of L’s grandfather so near, and the possibility of his judgment.

 

Mr. Wammy looks to Light and clears his throat. “Well, Light…what you have to understand, first of all, is that my family does not hail from these parts. When my dear Cecile passed, we had had only one child, which I know is not the norm here. We were already getting on somewhat in years when we started a family, and by then, there simply was no time for a second. She never lacked for love, though,” he says, smiling with a sad fondness. “Her name was Catherine. She was such a serious child! Always wanting to fix some problem or other…always wanting to tinker about with me in my workshop. So full of curiosity. So clever.”

 

L doesn’t pretend to eat, as Light imagines that he himself would, if he were in L’s boots. He simply swills his wine about in his glass, and watches the blood red of it silently.

 

“When she was only sixteen, she met a boy. Lajos,” says Mr. Wammy. He glances across the table to L. “The best description I can give of him for you is that he was the spitting image of our L. Right down to that untamable hair.” He smiles warmly.

 

Light finds himself smiling too, even though it is tinged with clear sorrow. He feels privileged, here in this small group, to hear the story of L’s birthright.

 

“But more than that,” continues Mr. Wammy. “He was quite the adventurous sort! No problem travelling, that was for sure. Only a year after they married, they moved to an island - Nilaki. And I think it was that sense of adventure that had Catherine taken with him. It was something she didn’t have naturally inside herself, after all. But also what they shared…they were the both of them blessed with such a brilliance.”

 

Mr. Wammy pauses there, reminiscing. Then he adds, in a brittle voice, “And they were both so very brave.”

 

To his left, L sets down his wine glass. Light knows it is not his imagination that he does so with a shaking hand. He knows that the tragedy of the story is fast approaching.

 

“Nilaki wasn’t known, even at that time, for any sort of great criminal activity. There were whispers of certain things…but I thought that since such rumors existed everywhere, all around the world, that it was nothing to raise objection about. And Catherine was ever so happy. What excuse could I give to myself to stop the pair of them? I wish now that I had. Cecile would have, had she lived that long. She was always the wiser of the two of us.” Mr. Wammy sighs heavily. He removes his glasses and rubs at his eyes. “I saw them off…the three of them, at that point.”

 

“Three?” Light asks. A second after he speaks, he realizes.

 

L.

 

“You were such a wee thing, _Enkle_ ,” says Mr. Wammy to L. “And I never had seen a babe who cried so rarely.”

 

L gives him a faint, sideways smile. It doesn’t reach his eyes.

 

“Catherine wrote to me every week, without fail. She was so enamored of the island, and the people there. There was a certain fruit she was so taken with…pineapple, I believe it was. Anyway, I could tell that she loved Lajos, and their son, and was happy in her life. That is all a parent really wants of their child, in the end. To be happy. No matter what some say – about wanting gold, or fame, or what have you, for their offspring. It isn’t true. All they want is their happiness. So I would write to her often, and share her life in that way. I was content.” Mr. Wammy sighs again. “But one week, a letter never came.”

 

Light feels, instinctively, what this must have meant. He looks to L.

 

L remains silent, but valiantly meets Light’s eyes. Light doesn’t know what to say, or even if he _should_ say anything, but he wants very much for L to know his sympathy.

 

“I didn’t go immediately to Nilaki…I told myself there was no cause for alarm. Perhaps a storm had delayed the post...a passing illness, perhaps. But even days later, there was no word. And I could not wait any longer. I sailed to Nilaki, which thankfully was not so very far away. And found my way to their home, which Catherine had described to me. What I saw there…what I saw there, I shall never forget.”

 

Mr. Wammy doesn’t need to say what it was he saw for Light to picture it in his mind. Something gruesome…something which ended L’s parents’ lives.

 

“Only those with the blackest, darkest hearts could have done such a thing to my daughter. To her husband. As long as I live, I shall not forgive it. But L was nowhere to be found. And I realized, piece by piece, that if he had not been killed, he had been taken. So I searched. Catherine and Lajos fought – that much was clear to me. They fought hard. I was prepared to do just as much for L. I had never done any sort of tracking, nor detective work. But it is amazing, what a man can accomplish, when motivated.” Mr. Wammy replaces his glasses, and looks at Light squarely. Light sees the bravery in him, which must surely be hereditary. “I found him on a ship…one of those that transports children. And not for any respectable reason.”

 

Light’s breath is stolen away. To think of what kind of life L might have been subjected to…how close he was to…something so unspeakable that Light cannot hold the name of it in his mind.

 

“Looking back, I don’t know how I knew. But at the time…I didn’t question it for a second. Even wrapped in all of those rags, dirty and hidden away on the floor, in the dark…I knew it was my grandson. I got him out of that wretched place – and I did it by any means I had at my disposal. Thanks be to the gods that my father showed me my way around a rifle. And I shall tell you honestly, Light, I regret none of it.”

 

Light nods. He is in firm agreement. Truly, he is no pacifist, and if it were he in Mr. Wammy’s place, he would have done all manner of vicious things to get L back.

 

“I wish every day that I had not hesitated when Catherine’s letter did not arrive on time. I might have spared her too, and Lajos.” 

 

Light does take L’s hand, at that. He decides to damn the consequences.

 

* * *

 

After that, dinner continues with a more somber air. It is not unpleasant, but it is serious, and the back of Light’s mind is consumed with thoughts of what L feels. How he must have grown up with this story, how he must wonder what his parents would think of him as he is today, how certainly their deaths must factor into his view of justice, and marriage, and life itself.

 

Over time, though, the mood is lifted. Conversation flows between the three of them without strain. It turns to happier topics; anecdotes of L’s childhood feature prominently from Mr. Wammy’s end. Light is fascinated by them, charmed in a hundred small but distinct ways at L’s curiosity, tenacity, and individuality.

 

“Surely I did not say such a thing, Grandfather,” L says at one point, chuckling at the idea. “Why, I could not recognize myself in such a wild story.”

 

“Oh, you most certainly did, L,” Mr. Wammy argues. “And you said it as if the truth of it could not be disputed!” Mr. Wammy’s voice goes higher in pitch, mimicking a younger L: “‘But certainly there are elephants on the moon, Grandfather. What else could have been big enough to make those markings on it?’”

 

Light laughs, covering his mouth with one hand.

 

“Hmmm, well…there is a certain logic to it, I suppose,” L concedes, smiling a bit. “Perhaps it was me, after all.”

 

“You always needed an explanation for _everything_ , _Enkel_ ,” says Mr. Wammy warmly. “You still do.”

 

He is cutting his veal into bite-sized pieces when suddenly, from the corner of his eye, Light sees something completely unexpected: a fluffy, white cat.

 

It walks into the dining room with its tail held high, looking around curiously, and seeming for all the world as if it owns the place. Light is thankfully not allergic. Mother cannot abide cats because of the severity of her allergies, and so Light has never had the experience of seeing one indoors before.

 

The cat stalks about the perimeter of the room, brushing its tail against the walls sensuously. When it sees Light, it pauses in its patrol, and its tail flicks this way and that. Its blue eyes are trained squarely on him. They do not waver for an instant. The cat has a squashed, serious-looking face and a mouth that seems perpetually pursed.

 

Light juts his chin in the direction of the feline. “Your pet, I assume?” he asks L.

 

L shakes his head. “I’m afraid that is only in the loosest sense of the word. He was Amra’s pet, true enough. He loathes me. Grandfather is the one who feeds him, and so he doesn’t mind his presence. He even lets him pet him now and again. I get nothing but a scratch if I try. His name is Maneesh.”

 

At the sound of his name, Maneesh goes to L. He gives Light an obnoxiously wide berth as he does, as if to say that he wants no part of the air that Light breathes.

 

Light watches as Maneesh comes to sit next to L’s chair, then spring suddenly upward, and jump into his lap.

 

Mr. Wammy laughs. “Look at that, L, he is trying to make a liar out of you.”

 

L looks down at the cat, blinking widely. His hands hover in the air, as if he is uncertain whether or not to try to pet him. “My stars, he is. He has never done that, I can assure you. Isn’t that right, Grandfather? You may vouch for me in this.”

 

“Ah, but our L tells the truth, Light,” Mr. Wammy says. “This is most unusual.”

 

“Shall I try to pet him, Light?” asks L.

 

“That depends,” Light says with a grin. He has mostly abandoned his food, in favor of watching the scene unfold. “Do you think it worth the risk to your hand?”

 

“Yes…” L replies, thoughtful and gamely. “I am nothing if not a bit daring.”

 

He looks at Light and smiles. Light has to fight off another spectacular blush.

 

Then L rests one palm against Maneesh’s back, and Maneesh seems to allow it. Even when L gives a few tentative strokes, the cat does not hiss or leap away.

 

“Well, look at that…” Mr. Wammy says. “L has tamed the feral beast.”

 

“For the moment only, I’m sure,” replies L flippantly, looking down at the cat and smiling. “Would you like to pet him, Light? Take advantage of his good humor?”

 

From his place on L’s lap, Maneesh is staring at Light with narrowed eyes. Light feels no sense of welcome from him. He decides that, perhaps, it is simply that he is unused to felines. What sort of bravery does it require, really, to pet a small house cat?  

 

Light reaches out to pat him, but Maneesh rears back at the attempt, hissing loudly and baring his sharp teeth. Light pulls his hand back instantly. He is caught off guard by the sudden ferocity. How can something so small and furry manage to be so vicious?

 

“Oh dear,” says Mr. Wammy. “This is much more like his usual self.”

 

L stares at Maneesh in bewilderment. “Do you think he suffers some sort of mania? One moment domesticated and the next a wild thing?”

 

“Who can say? Perhaps it is simply in his nature to be unpredictable,” replies Mr. Wammy.

 

Light has no hypothesis to add to the discussion, for he is occupied with the collar around Maneesh’s neck, and what shiny things hang from it.

 

Maneesh is wearing two gold rings around the collar, Light realizes. They flicker and gleam in the light of the candelabras, catching the glow and reflecting it brilliantly. Light’s eyesight is keen enough for him to identify the markings on the rings themselves: tiny engraved flames, all around the edges of each ring. The rings are identical in everything but size. One is small, made for a child or a very young woman, and the other large, fit for a grown man’s hand.  

 

Light is not a fool, but he wishes he were, in this moment.

 

He has a vision of L after Amra’s death, taking off his wedding band and adding it together with Amra’s. He can see it with a painful clarity: L holding both rings with eyes that are swollen and red with tears. He can see L placing both rings together on Maneesh’s collar, alone and brokenhearted, vowing to care for an animal as venomous as this one simply for Amra’s memory.

 

Light can hardly bear it. There is a wholly new and wholly agonizing emotion lodged in his chest. He vibrates with the raw, ugly feeling of it…the burning pain of vicious jealousy. He has never felt it before, yet, somehow, he knows its name.

 

Oh yes…he knows its name.

 

Light has no desire to convey any of this to L. L has no control over whom his heart has chosen, after all. And Light does not wish for any empty comfort, or pitying sympathy. No doubt L would try to _console_ him over the matter and Light would rather stab himself with his steak knife than endure that. When all of this started, he required only that L was a decent man. Someone upright and trustworthy. L fits the criteria. If, somewhere along the way, Light had gotten it into his head that it would be nice to have more than that, then he has only himself to blame.

 

Light must remember his posture. He sits up straighter in his chair and pulls his shoulders back.

 

Except, of course, for the small matter of _L lying to him_. (Those weeks ago, at _Willow’s_ , when L had insisted that he had never loved Amra – that he only married her to save her life, out of human decency. Light wonders how much of that story is true. Was _any_ of it true? Unlikely. L probably Courted her as he is Courting Light now. He probably kissed her hand as he kisses Light’s. He probably wrote her letters just as poetic as he writes to Light. Did he kiss her as he kissed Light? He loved the girl, so he must have. If anything, he would have been _more_ charming with her. _More_ intimate. He would have been trying to make her fall in love with him, after all. He wasn’t looking for a mere companion then. He wasn’t trying to appease a grandfather who didn’t want him to live out his days alone. Light realizes that he is only here _because_ of L’s history with Amra. If it were not for her, and the loss of her, L would never have gone looking for another spouse. He wouldn’t have a gaping loneliness in his heart that needed filling. He would have had no need of Light’s company.)

 

Carefully, Light smoothes his expression into blankness. He takes a bite of the veal and forces himself to swallow. He has no appetite, and the sensation of flesh sliding down his throat makes him nauseous.

 

“Light, is something the matter?” asks L, to his left. Maneesh tilts his head at Light.

 

“Not at all,” answers Light. He tries to inject a lightness into his voice, as though he finds the question humorous and a bit surprising. Realizing that refusing L eye contact will only serve to reveal that something _is_ bothering him, he looks up.

 

L is watching him with polite concern. The wide sleeves of his poet’s shirt hang from his wrists with an unfair elegance.

 

“Is your family keeping well, Light?” asks Mr. Wammy. He takes a bite of carrot. Maneesh jumps off of L’s lap.

 

“Quite well, sir, thank you. They send their regards,” Light says. He forces himself to smile. “My mother has had her hands full with the Match Celebration preparations.”

 

“Ah, yes,” Mr. Wammy replies fondly. “Surely it is something she is looking forward to, though? Especially as you are her firstborn?”

 

Light nods. He can still feel L’s eyes on him, and it is distracting in the extreme. “Even apart from that, she and my sister quite enjoy parties. It is a good excuse for them to throw one.” He laughs though he feels no humor.

 

“Light, are you quite certain that there is nothing amiss?” L asks again, making no effort to even pretend to follow the current conversation.

 

Light’s hand tightens on his fork. “I’m fine, L, really.” 

 

“Is it perhaps the veal?” presses L. Does he _ever_ know when to leave well enough alone? “ I confess you look as though you have swallowed sour milk.”

 

“L,” Light says firmly. “I’m fine.”

 

“Light, whatever it is, you ought to feel at liberty to tell me. Are we not engaged?” asks L. He gives Light a bit of a smile. No doubt he is attempting to appear welcoming…reassuring. Little does he know the sort of rage this question inspires.

 

L wants to know what is the matter? Fine. Light will tell him. The earful he will receive will serve him rightly.

 

Light smiles back at him, making sure to give L full view of his canines. “We are…you speak the truth.”

 

L nods confidently, visibly pleased. He clearly has no idea of the gravity of the situation. Light almost pities him. Almost.

 

It is of no consequence. Soon, L will likely know more than he wished to.

 

“Mr. Wammy?” asks Light, turning to the man. Mr. Wammy raises his eyebrows at him. “Might I have a word with L? We shan’t be long.”

 

“Of course, lad, take your time. When you get to be as old as I am, you require periods of rest anyway,” says Mr. Wammy mildly.

 

L stands, dropping his cloth napkin carelessly onto the table. He pulls Light’s chair out for him as Light stands and Light wants to hate him for it.

 

He cannot.

 

He follows L out of the dining room and through the foyer into a room directly across from it. It has huge, towering glass panes instead of walls, which let the evening sunlight bleed through from every corner. The whole room resembles nothing so much as a giant birdcage. There are oil lamps placed at various intervals, glowing yellow while the light from the sun glows red. In the exact center of the space there is a grand piano. It is painted a glistening white.

 

“Alright…what is the matter, then?” asks L. He rests his forearms on the piano’s top, leaning his weight against it and watching Light expectantly. The billowing sleeves of his shirt blend seamlessly into the color of the piano. Along with L’s skin, there is so much white, gleaming purity on display that it nearly blinds Light. He stands opposite L, certainly not leaning against such an expensive instrument, and the two of them face each other. 

 

And all of Light’s determination to tell L in no uncertain terms what is the matter goes up in smoke. He would now rather bury the matter under six feet of dirt and leave it there to rot.

 

“I am…unused to dwelling in so grand a place,” Light answers, knowing he has to say something. It is at least halfway true. “I am…adjusting. That’s all.”

 

“Light, come now. This was something you could not say in company?” L questions dubiously. “What is the matter? Truly?”

 

Light sighs, mentally cursing L’s intelligence and his unwillingness to accept polite fabrications.

 

“It is merely that…I am being enlightened. That is what I am adjusting to.”

 

“Could you possibly be more vague?” asks L, with a bit of a chuckle. “To what are you being enlightened?”

 

“I am being enlightened to you, L,” Light says. His own honesty shocks him somewhat.

 

L is quiet for a few beats. He pushes himself off of the piano and stands up straight.  “Nothing too monstrous, I hope?”

 

“Nothing monstrous in the slightest,” Light assures him. He modulates his voice in such a way as to seem serene.

 

“I see. Well, then, if it is not something ill, what could be the cause of your distress?”

 

“I am not _distressed_ , L,” Light says, scornful of the idea of being as emotional as all of that.

 

“Bothered, then,” says L dismissively. “Whatever term you wish. The idea is the same, in the end.”

 

“I am…surprised,” Light settles on. “Nothing more.”

 

“And what has surprised you?”

 

Light thinks through the possible courses this conversation can take and comes to the conclusion that no matter how he prevaricates, L will not relent until he reaches the plain truth of the matter. And rather than impolitely force Mr. Wammy to await them for a longer time than necessary, Light decides to simply speak the plain truth immediately and be done with it.

 

“That none of this is new to you, in any way. That I am merely the sequel to a novel already written: a similar story, but with none of the excitation and vigor of the first. That you loved her, L,” he says, ignoring how much it stings.

 

L blinks. His large, dark eyes widen. “Amra?”

 

“Is there some other young woman I should be aware of?” asks Light, by way of an answer.

 

“I didn’t love her,” says L. He sounds puzzled. “I told you that.”

 

“And yet,” Light says, bluntly.

 

L’s eyebrows draw together. “Light, you must understand why I - ” he begins, but Light is suddenly in no mood to hear whatever pretty story he will unravel.

 

“Of course there is no law against Offering for me anyway – you are under no obligation to feel for me what you felt for her. I only wish that you had made your position clear to me. You misled me, sir, and you just attempted to do so again. I cannot abide it. If we are to function as a married couple - ”

 

“You believe I _misled_ you?” L interrupts, clearly incredulous.

 

“You most certainly did,” says Light coolly. “Surely you remember our conversation at _Willow’s_? I suspect that you were aiming to put me at ease, in which you clearly succeeded, but at the price of outright lying, L?”

 

“I did not _lie_ to you, Light,” hisses L. “I have been nothing but true to you from the very start.”

 

“L, honestly…how senseless do you believe me to be? You think I didn’t see those rings around your cat’s neck? Who keeps wedding rings out of any reason but sentiment?”

 

“How senseless do you believe _me_ to be, Light Yagami?” L demands. “You believe that I have lied to you and then left evidence of the lie in plain sight for you to find?”

 

“It is not a matter of sense or sensibility. I expect that your love disallowed you to remove the evidence,” says Light, in what he thinks is a very reasonable tone indeed. “It is clear that you are a passionate man and I can well believe that you would not want to dishonor a woman you held so dear simply to keep me appeased.”

 

In response to this, L laughs bitterly. “Passionate, you say. Passionate, am I? The irony of it all….” He continues laughing, harsh and dreadful. 

 

Light feels as though he is missing something vital, and he abhors the feeling. “What on earth is that supposed to mean? Speak plainly.”

 

L’s laughter ends abruptly. “Why should I? You have no trust in me – what difference should my words make to you? How can someone so clever be so _blind_?”

 

Light opens his mouth to shoot back something, anything, but L stops him.

 

“Pray, wait a tick. Wait. No doubt you have something very _clever_ waiting for me but hold your tongue a moment. I have another question for you, Light. Answer me this: how can someone who bears himself in so princely a manner be so utterly insecure?”

 

Light stares at L, stunned. He does not recognize this nasty, spiteful creature.

 

“No answer for me, then?” L presses. “No decrees from His Highness?”

 

“Shut your mouth,” Light whispers. He is seconds from losing his composure, and L does not know what will greet him when that line is crossed.

 

“Or what, Light? Will you exile me? Send me to the stocks? Raise my taxes? Oh, the sheer _terror_.”

 

“ _Shut your mouth!”_ Light screams.

 

L shuts his mouth.

 

“I am _not_ a prince, and I don’t fancy myself one! It is _you_ who sits on his throne, picking up young maidens and bachelors and collecting them like trophies!” yells Light. Once un-stoppered, the words pour out of his mouth. “I’m right, aren’t I? Isn’t that what you do? You sit amongst your gold and silver and carriages and manors and you just…go around finding people who need some sort of savior and then save them from whatever is about to kill them, only to watch them die anyway? And then you collect their mementos and move on to your next conquest?”

 

Light does not foresee the consequences of his words.

 

L _explodes_.

 

“That is a _horrific_ thing to say!” he shouts. It is like a gunshot firing: swift and sharp and deafening. “How could you even set your lips to utter something so unkind? Of course I don’t do such things! Have you no knowledge of me at all?!”

 

“I know what you tell me and what you show me – nothing more,” answers Light, now keeping a very tight reign on the volume of his words. “How hard would it be for you to deceive me? Not very. I am smart enough to know that much, at least. You could show me only that which you wish for me to see, and I would be powerless to know otherwise.”

 

“What is _wrong_ with you?” L bellows. His voice rings like thunder. There is something intimidating in the set of his shoulders…in the stark humorlessness of his expression. His eyes shine with black fire. “You can only believe that which you can hold in your hand? Or see in front of you? You can’t see my feelings so you refuse to believe that they are there? I’m like the gods to you? Is that it?”

 

Light stares at him, shocked and furious in a way that leaves him speechless. How _dare_ L? How _dare_ he?

 

“Have you no faith in _anything_?” L shouts, and he takes on a sudden tone of desperation. He stares into Light’s eyes imploringly. “There are invisible things that are _real_ , Light! I know you can feel it. I _know_ you can. You have faith in me, if nothing else on Earth or in the heavens! You do! It’s there. I _feel_ it.”

 

Light’s chest is heaving. He feels as though he is gasping for breath, suffocating. He is gesticulating wildly and he can’t help himself. He _hates_ this powerlessness. He hates that somehow L has taken away the control he once had over himself. He is making an idiot of himself here in this grand manor, under the eye of L’s grandfather, and he cannot stop.

 

“What you _feel_ is contradicted by everything in this place! Your cat, your wedding rings, all of it! And don’t drag my agnosticism into this! How dare you?! You mock doubt? You? He that has never known it? Don’t you think I _want_ to believe? Don’t you think it would be easier that way?” Light is screaming in outrage. He will refuse to admit, even in his own mind, that the outrage means that he is hurt.

 

L’s eyes soften by a fraction. Light sees this, and somewhere in the basement of his consciousness it registers, but it is too little too late to quell the rage he feels.

 

“Don’t you think I want to believe in _you_?” he continues. “Don’t you think that would be easier too?? You waltz into my life and you tell me things I’ve never heard from _anyone_ : poetry and brilliance and understanding and you say it all with that face of yours and you _save_ people for a living and I know you know that you’re saving me too – along with my entire family! And you want to know why I can’t just up and _trust_ you? With all your goddamned brilliance, you can’t understand why I might have the _slightest_ hesitation about doing that?”

 

Light’s lungs have wearied themselves with shouting. He cannot keep it up, and rage whooshes away from him, replaced in an instant by exhaustion.  

 

“Wake up, Mr. Lawliet,” says Light, with a bitter coldness.

 

The vengeful part of him triumphs at the miniscule flinch that he gets from L for his trouble. Part of him instantly wishes he could take it back. And all of him hates every moment of this argument, and is ashamed.

 

L takes a deep breath and exhales carefully. He does it again, and Light is further shamed by his willingness to attempt to put aside his anger, when Light will not. He clings to his anger with iron talons.

 

L seems to succeed in calming himself after his second exhale. He comes forward, bridging the ocean between them, and lays one finger on Light’s chest, right over Light’s heart.

 

“Everything you need to know about how I feel is right here,” L says quietly. The quiet is even more intense than his shouting. “if you’d start using something other than your head to listen, you would hear it.”

 

Light cannot accept this treatment. He cannot bow to it, accept it, _feel_ it, when it is the very thing he fears is false. L has driven him to utter madness – he has never been so humiliated, so _beaten_ in all his life. L is the flame that sets fire to a field and tears open the crops within – burning them and _ruining_ them. L is the scythe that cuts them down, easy and smooth and quick. L would have him believe these honeyed words, would convince him, even as Light stands within this house that is haunted by someone else’s love.

 

Light cannot remain here any longer. Mr. Wammy will surely be discomforted beyond belief, and Light has been beyond inappropriate.

 

“I must leave,” he says. “Matsuda shall drive me back home.”

 

“Leave then,” says L, furious all over again, harsh as a straight razor. His voice is a lash against Light’s cheek. “Be gone.”

 

L does not wait for any further reply. There is to be no “goodnight” at the end of this meeting, and surely no goodnight kiss. He turns on his heeled boot and marches silently and swiftly away, up the grand staircase behind them, and out of sight.

 

Light finds Maneesh sitting atop the bannister at the bottom. He is watching Light and flicking his tail left and right keenly, as if he is standing guard. He doesn’t even blink, and it unnerves Light in a way that a fluffy white feline should not be able to unnerve him. The wedding rings at his collar glint menacingly. If Maneesh could speak, Light is sure that he would be warning Light away – telling him that if he tried to go up those stairs and after L, Maneesh would slit his throat.

 

Light swallows hard. In an effort to slow his racing heart, he starts doing mathematics in his head. Random sums and multiplication and division, with numbers large enough that he cannot do them easily. When he feels like he can form coherent sentences, he leaves.

 

Mr. Wammy is still waiting at the table. He makes no attempt to hide his knowledge of what has just occurred…how could he? Light and L were probably heard shouting at each other two towns away. His expression conveys a mixture of regret and contemplation. Light approaches him, unable to completely abandon an attention to manners, even now.

 

“Mr. Wammy, I appreciate your hospitality. Unfortunately, I believe it is time that I was getting back. I apologize for the disorder I have brought to your home,” Light says. He is sincere. He bows deeply and turns to leave.

 

He doesn’t get more than two steps away.

 

“Would you mind if I had a word with you before you go, lad?” Mr. Wammy’s mild voice calls out to him.

 

The blood in Light’s veins turns to ice. Mr. Wammy will not be at all pleased with him, and he has no _strength_ for another argument.

 

_Damn it all, now I’ve pissed off my future grandfather-in-law too._

 

Not that he will remain Light’s future grandfather-in-law. No doubt L’s grandfather will want the Courtship severed, the Match broken, and Light far, far away from his grandson. Which itself only adds to the cruelty of this entire night, as Light was somehow looking forward to having a grandparent in his life.

 

Light hopes he says his piece quickly. He cannot bear to spend much more time in this manor.

 

Fear is a useless emotion.

 

Light turns around. He meets Mr. Wammy’s eyes squarely.

 

“Not at all, sir,” he says, as evenly as he can manage.

 

“Splendid,” says Mr. Wammy, gesturing to the dining table chair across from himself.

 

Light sits. He is too tense to cross one leg over the other. He sits ramrod-straight, and it is all he can do not to grip the sides of his seat with white knuckles.

 

“Forgive me, but I could not help but hear the bulk of your conversation,” begins L’s grandfather. “And I must say…I have never heard L raise his voice to anyone. Ever. Even as a child…he was always almost unnaturally soft of speech.”

 

“The provocation was all mine,” Light says. He feels shame like a cloak around his shoulders. “I apologize.”

 

_So not only does he love someone else, he actively dislikes me more than he has ever disliked anyone. Marvelous._

“You misunderstand, lad,” Mr. Wammy says kindly.

 

Light meets his eyes for the first time since the conversation started. They are a watery blue, cloudy with age, and just as kind as his voice.

 

“What I mean to impress upon you is not the idea of L’s unhappiness at this moment, but the knowledge that _you yourself_ have caused it.”

 

Light stares.

 

Mr. Wammy stares back, then sighs. “Do you think my grandson strong, Light?”

 

The question strikes Light as quite abrupt indeed. “Of course, sir.”

 

“And do you think him intelligent?”

 

“Undoubtedly,” answers Light, unsure where Mr. Wammy is taking this. He wonders if perhaps the man is touched in the head, as old as he is.

 

“Precisely. Understand, then, that you have taken an intelligent, strong, young man and removed his self-control,” says Mr. Wammy. He raises his eyebrows expectantly at Light.

 

“Are you…” Light begins, but he cannot finish. He can’t find the words.

 

But Mr. Wammy takes his meaning well enough. “I am indeed,” he replies, smiling minutely. “And while I appreciate the…passion…you inspire in him, I must ask for your assurance that you take it seriously.”

 

Light’s brain grinds to a shuddering and screeching halt.

 

“You must pardon an old man his peculiarities,” Mr. Wammy continues. “He is my only grandchild, after all, and the only person on earth left with my daughter’s blood in their veins.”

 

“Mr. Wammy,” Light says, keeping a firm grasp on the broken, sobbing laughter that threatens to bubble up from within him, “L is not at all taken with me. He is likely cursing my very name as we speak.”

 

“Hmmm…well, we shall have to agree to disagree on this point, I’m afraid. But if you would, please, lad, humor me. We elderly do enjoy that, you see. Imagine yourself convinced of my point of view…can you do that?”

 

Light wants to protest. He wants to say the jagged knife that such a notion shoves into his heart is too painful to bear, even hypothetically. But he doesn’t. He nods.

 

“My grandson is generally very capable of judging good men from evil ones  - and no doubt he has judged rightly with you – but I would be remiss if I did not at least seek my own certainty. Yes? Especially given that this is the first time that his heart has spoken louder than his head.”

 

Light nods again.

 

 _This entire exercise is futile_ he thinks to himself.

 

“When you are wed, will you honor my grandson? Will you respect him, and be faithful to him in all things?” Mr. Wammy asks. He speaks with nothing but complete sincerity. Light nearly expects him to burst into laughter, so ridiculous is the notion of L’s heart being compromised, but he does not.

 

“Will you love him as he will love you?” Mr. Wammy continues.

 

This last is too much for Light.

 

“Look…I appreciate that you’re only trying to watch over your grandson, and I sincerely believe that _you_ believe what you’re saying. But L has never once confessed something of that magnitude to me, and I can’t believe that he feels anything more than companionship – if even that anymore - for me unless and until he says it himself. Until that point, I just can’t accept it. However, even if you’re wrong and he doesn’t feel anything of that magnitude for me at all, I still swear on everything I have that I will _always_ treat him with honor, and respect, and faithfulness. He’s a good man. Anyone would be privileged to marry him.”

 

Light stands up and pushes his chair back into place. “I sincerely apologize for my behavior in your home tonight,” he says.

 

Then he bows again, even deeper than before.

 

“It is quite alright, lad,” Mr. Wammy says. “Our passions come from the gods themselves, after all. Take care on your journey home, and good evening to you.”

 

“Good evening,” Light replies. And then he really does leave.

 

(He doesn’t see Mr. Wammy smile sadly or shake his head.

 

“Ah, the young,” he says to himself.)

 

* * *

 

The double doors of L’s manor are as stubborn and immovable as the man himself. Light has to pull with considerable force just to get one open.

 

When he does, he finds the carriage parked at the end of the manor’s long drive. Matsuda is sitting in the driver’s seat, playing jacks.

 

He is so absorbed in his game that he doesn’t hear Light approach until he is only a few feet away.

 

“Dinner over already, Light?” he asks brightly. “That was quick! Are we going back to your house? We’ll definitely make curfew, that’s for sure! Wait, where is Mr. Lawliet?”

 

“He’s not coming, Matsuda,” Light informs him. He goes to the carriage door and puts one foot on the step, eager to get as far away from Silver Hills as he can.

 

Matsuda leans over the side of the driver’s bench, peering over his shoulder at Light with a frown on his face. “He isn’t? Why not? He always comes with us when I bring you back….”

 

Light says the first excuse that comes to mind. “Something came up with one of his cases.”

 

“Hmmm…man, he’s a busy guy. He doesn’t even have time for an evening of Courting?” asks Matsuda.

 

“Evidently not tonight,” Light answers wearily.

 

“Hey, Light, are you okay?” Matsuda asks suddenly. “You don’t look so good.”

 

“I’m fine, Matsuda. Just a stomachache.” Light tells him. He opens the carriage door and climbs in.

 

L’s carriage is entirely different without him in it.

 

“Please, let’s just drive,” Light calls from within.

 

Matsuda does.

 

* * *

 

When they reach home, Sayu is the one to answer the door.

 

“Hey, Light! Hey Matsuda!” she says happily, smile as wide as a ship’s sails. “What are you doing back so early?”

 

Matsuda smiles uncertainly. “I think Light said he didn’t feel well?”

 

Matsuda is, without doubt, the worst liar in the history of human existence.

 

“You’re sick, big brother?” asks Sayu. Her smile falls away. “You should eat some soup! Mother made some and there’s still some left from dinner.”

 

“I’m already pretty full,” says Light. It isn’t true, but he feels absolutely no appetite at the moment. Right now, thinking of eating food is like thinking of eating ashes.

 

“Is…your mom or dad at home, Sayu?” Matsuda asks, peering into the open doorway. Technically, he is to return Light to one of his guardians at the end of meetings.

 

“Father is still at work. Mother’s home - she’s cleaning,” Sayu says brightly, gesturing behind her. “In the kitchen.”

 

Matsuda seems torn between calling for Mother and simply trusting Sayu and leaving Light with her. He looks from Light to Sayu and back several times.

 

“It’s fine, Matsuda,” Light tells him. “Mother is just inside. Thank you for bringing me back.”

 

Matsuda seems relieved that the decision was made for him. “You’re welcome, Light,” he says gratefully. “Have a good night…feel better.”

 

“Thank you,” Light says. Is his voice really as hollow as he thinks it is? “You as well.”

 

Matsuda turns back, and Light follows Sayu into the house. She runs up the stairs, skirts flying behind her.

 

True to her word, Light finds Mother in the kitchen.

 

“You’re home early, dear,” Mother says, on her hands and knees, scrubbing the floor.  She looks up from her washing. Upon seeing Light, her eyes widen with concern. She wipes her hands on a towel and comes near him. “Oh, dear…what’s the matter? Did something happen?”

 

Light allows her to peer all over him, as if she will be able to read the argument in the set of his brow or the curve of his mouth. He schools his features into something presentable. “Just a stomachache…I don’t think I’m quite accustomed to Mr. Lawliet’s food yet,” he says.

 

“Oh, Light…are you sure that’s all it is?” she asks, beseechingly. She touches his temple, and slides her hand from there to his jaw.

 

Light is not doing a very good job of making himself presentable, if this is her reaction. He tries harder.

 

“Yeah…I’ll be fine, Mom,” he says. He smiles. “Really.”

 

“Light…you know you can tell me, if there’s something else. We can talk about it…you don’t look well,” says Mother. She frowns at him.

 

Light is losing his touch. It was never this hard to convince his parents of anything before.

 

“It’s just a stomachache, Mother,” he tells her. He forces himself to laugh a little. The sound comes out like rocks banging against each other in a sack. He wraps one arm around his waist and rubs his side a little. “I’m sure it will be better later.”

 

“Do you want some chamomile tea? I think we have some left.”

 

“No, thanks…I think I just need to wait it out,” says Light. He makes his way through the kitchen and to the hallway leading to the back door. “I’m going outside for a bit…the fresh air might…do me good.”

 

“Alright…” Mother says, worry clear in her voice. “If you think so.”

 

Light has his hand on the doorknob when Mother’s voice calls out to him again, from the kitchen.

 

“Light…this has nothing to do with the Courtship…does it?”

 

Light swallows. He will need to modulate his voice. Nothing sad. That would betray him instantly. Casual tone, some faint surprise, and a bit of a reassuring touch. That’s what he needs.

 

“No, Mom…everything’s fine.” 

 

Then he steps out, leaving the door to thud closed behind him.

 

* * *

 

Light finds himself under one of the trees in their field. It is the same one he sought solace from, those weeks ago, when L and his grandfather came for dinner. That time feels so long ago. Like another life.

 

Suddenly, his stomach clenches painfully, to the point that he doubles over. He finds it ironic that now, it really does ache. He puts his hands on his knees, fighting a sudden wave of vertigo. He cannot find any sure and steady place for himself, and the world spins around him. His vision blurs suddenly. No matter how he tries to focus on the blades of grass at his feet, he cannot see them clearly.

 

The pain does not ease. It spasms and multiplies, right to the core of him.

 

He _hurts_.

 

 _This_. This moment, here and now, is why he was right to call himself a fool all those weeks ago. L has made him weak. L has made him this wretched thing, standing alone in a field and unable to control even his most basic of functions. It is L’s fault that he is suffering, but more than that, it is Light’s. He was a fool. He let his heart push his mind out of the way, and look at where it has landed him. Where is all his good sense now?

 

All over him, he is marked. The backs of his hands…his knuckles…his lips. All places where L has left a brand on him, invisible, but no less permanent for that. Always, he will feel those marks. For the rest of his life.

 

And all from a man who might never think of them the way that Light does.

 

Light finds that his cheeks are wet. He wipes the moisture away furiously. He will not name it for what it is. He wipes the salt water away once more and squeezes his eyes shut. He will not do this. He _will_ _not do this._

 

Clouds gather overhead, and the wind picks up. _A storm is coming_ thinks Light faintly. It feels fitting. Why shouldn’t the outside world hold up a mirror to his heart? He doesn’t need to cry. The earth can do that for him.

 

The sun is settling against the horizon, taking its light with it, piece by piece. Lightening flashes above him, as if chasing it away.

 

A terrible fear strikes Light then.

 

What if, now, L is to up and cancel the entire Courtship?

 

He cannot think past this notion for quite some time. His whole being goes numb.

 

And while thunder rumbles overhead, while the sky darkens, while wind whips through the locks of his brown hair, still he does not move. The rain will be nothing compared to this drenched, awful feeling in his heart.

 

There is no point whatsoever in dwelling on that feeling. What had happened, had happened, and Light could not change the past.

 

If L was going to call it all off…the Match and the Courtship and the sweet, subtle fire that Light had thought they'd lit between themselves...well, what was Light to do? Steal Pendleton or Jackson away and make a bigger fool of himself by riding to Silver Hills and begging L to take him back? Preposterous. L would no doubt scorn Light's neediness, as Light would scorn it in himself.

 

Gods above, what was he going to tell Mother and Father? And Sayu? How could he explain the awful truth of the engagement being over?

 

It was all Light’s fault...he ought to have handled things better. He ought not to have lost his temper. Who on earth had _ever_ caused him to lose his temper before, besides his family? And even they, only rarely? He ought to have hidden his heart better, or, at the very least, spoken to L about the matter at some place. Not in L’s manor. Not within Mr. Wammy’s hearing. Instead, he did it there, tonight, and he disgraced L, and Mr. Wammy, and himself. He deserves to have this fragile, precious thing between he and L smothered and killed for the shamefulness of his behavior.

 

He needs a plan. He needs some sort of explanation for his parents.

 

_Mother, Father, Mr. L Lawliet is an inglorious libertine and I cannot in good conscience continuing Courting him._

_Mother, Father, Mr. L Lawliet attempted to break the tenets of Courtship tradition and I cannot in good conscience continuing Courting him._

Lightening crackles again, and the boom of thunder follows shortly after.

 

Light cannot soil L’s good name. Even if he _did_ lie about his past, he surely did it out of a consideration for Light. It would be convenient to blame the broken Match on L, but it would be wicked.

 

But Light cannot bring himself to tell his parents the truth of his unspeakable jealousy either.

No. There is no way that he could speak the words. Even thinking them causes his insides to lock up and his mouth to run dry. The last thing that Light Yagami ever wanted to be was vulnerable.

 

Rain begins to fall, at first in small drops, then in a steady downpour. The evening is warm enough for no chill to reach Light. Instead, the rain refreshes his spirit. It is crisp and cool, and runs down his skin in small rivulets. Light inhales deeply. The rain smells clean. Light’s shirt and pants cling to him. His bangs are plastered to his forehead. He pays neither of these things any mind.

 

He _isn’t_ vulnerable, he decides. He just needs a plan. He can deal with this.

 

Why is he giving up? He is throwing himself off of the metaphorical bridge, and why? L is angry with him? He can change that. He can fix it.

 

His family needs this Match. What kind of son would he be to abandon them to a life of hard labor and poverty, once his Father can no longer work? And what would he himself do, with no apprenticeship and no prospects?

 

He needs this Match, whether L’s heart is in it or no.

 

He can turn L’s mind away from his current anger. He can remind him of why he Offered for Light in the first place. He did pursue Light, after all. Not the other way around.

 

_It isn’t over. Get a grip on yourself, Yagami. You'd be letting them all down. You know what you're going to do? You're going to write to him - that's what you're going to do. He's not leaving you. No. He picked you, and for good reason. Has he not been impressed with your mind? Has he not made comments as to your moral fortitude? Has he not implied that you are at least aesthetically pleasing? _

_This isn't over yet._

He considers what he will say, and how he ought to approach the matter, and when he should write his letter. He plans. He thinks and thinks and thinks. He thinks so much that the weeping of his heart cannot be heard over the sound of all his thoughts.

 

Light stays outside, alone in the rain, until he is soaked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well! Trouble in paradise, as you can see. I love these characters, but God, is it fun to write them arguing with each other. Their competition and passionate fights are one of the things I love most about the Lawlight pairing. <3
> 
> Another Austen reference thrown in there, too. Lol 
> 
> All characters appearing in this work are fictitious. Any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. …not. Lol BC3, thank you again for all that you’re bringing to this story, and I’m sorry for all my ridiculous insecurities! 
> 
> Thank you to all of you reading, and all of the wonderful comments and reviews! 
> 
> I even got a piece of fanart for this fic, which still blows my mind! X_X Check it out! It’s so cute!! Thank you, Caecily!
> 
> http://caecily.deviantart.com/art/kiss-on-the-hand-602556487
> 
> I would love to hear what you thought of this chapter!
> 
> \- Magic


	12. Chapter Twelve

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was written, perhaps surprisingly, not to classical music. Instead, it was Tracy Chapman’s “Give Me One Reason” and Ben E. King’s “Stand By Me.” Classical is timeless, to me, but soulful pop music definitely has its own place. Ugh, I sound pretentious. Ignore me. Anyway, if you care to listen, both of those songs would make good soundtracks to this chapter.

_L,_

_I must begin this letter by expressing my sincere regret at my behavior at our last meeting. I behaved as a child does. You deserve honor, and deference, and I gave you none. Further, I recognize the disgrace I brought to your grandfather, and I regret this too, most sincerely. Would that Time were not a linear progress, marching ever forward. Would that I could wind that strict taskmaster backward, and undo what occurred._

_There is nothing I can do to bring such a thing to pass, but if I might bring you some bit of reparation, let me._

_Perhaps you have thought of the end of our Courtship…the lack of wisdom in our Match. If you have turned to thoughts such as these, I ought not to blame you for them. The responsibility, after all, would rest entirely on my shoulders. You see, I am less the experienced party in this pair. I am unused to flares of passion, never having been burned by them before. I know not how to manage such fires. I know only that, in the case of our last meeting, I managed them not at all._

_Your past is yours alone…I mean that with all honesty. To imply that you were at fault for any of it was unjust. With time to cool, I find that I was presumptuous in the extreme to suggest that I had a right to the truth of it. I confess…I grew so accustomed to the frankness of your speech…the freedom with which you expressed yourself…that I came to expect it even in matters of the greatest privacy. I’ve no right to the nature of your previous marriage. And I recognize that if I act again in such a despicable manner, I shall have no right to the nature of your next marriage either._

_Please accept my apologies._

_Your Match, should you still wish it,_

_Light_

* * *

 

_Light,_

_Where to begin? There are a great many misconceptions under which you labor…I scarcely know where to start._

_I suppose that it would be prudent to give you my assurances that your apologies are well met. By doing so, I hope that you will be able to read the rest of this letter with a clearer head. You have brought yourself to the very edge of fretfulness, I see, and I require you to hear me. With these words in mind, however, do not mistake me. I do not only accept your apologies out of a desire for you to listen, but also because I have listened to you_. _I believe your regret to be as sincere as you say. You needn’t be so hard on yourself. Yes, the suddenness of our disagreement took me by surprise, but the passion of it did not._

_Give yourself leave to feel. You will, I expect, be much more at ease if you do. If we do not give ourselves permission to be as emotional as we are, we shall be perpetually at odds with others, and with ourselves._

_I expect that the next area I ought to address is my questions to you. You see, though I appreciate your apologies, I still am left with question upon question about why such behavior sprang out of you in the first place. What brought about your vehement and unshakeable distrust of me? You and I…we had been building such a…such a rapport, for lack of a better term. What on earth changed it? I cannot easily believe that the mere sight of my old marriage bands could bring about such a violent change in your opinion of me, when you knew I am a widower, and when we had already discussed the marriage at length. Can you explain it to me? I promise I shall listen. _

_And now, I find myself in a great hurry to assure you that you have every right to my past. You have just as much right to that as to my present, or my future. I have given you my word that I shall give you nothing but the truth and I have held to that. I became so cross that night because I desire your trust with every fiber of my being. I felt that I deserved it. I still feel that way. Part of me demanded angrily to be granted your confidence. Inside, I demanded to know what about me was so lacking, that I was not worthy of it. Now that I am cooler of mind, I see that it is far more likely that the reason for your distrust in me lies deep within yourself, and not in some deficiency within me. Am I correct? Please tell me if I am not. _

_And if I am correct, and it is something inside yourself that prevents you from having faith in me, let me help you, Light. _

_In turn, I shall trust you with knowledge of why I reacted with such fierceness that night. The heart of the reason, I should say._

_Though I rail against it with every bit of my strength, I am forced to accept, when the sun falls and the moon rises, that I am powerless. I meant to save a young girl from death, and I failed. I am utterly unable to raise my parents from the grave. I will be wholly incapable of preventing my dear grandfather’s passing. And you, Light? Nothing I can do will prevent your own end from reaching you, though I fully expect and intend to delay it for as long as I can. I have no doubt of my ability to shield you from the current madmen murdering innocents. But, ultimately, I am forced to recognize that I have no ability to prevent your death entirely. And when you accused me of saving people only to watch them fall to death anyway…I could not contain my rage. But please understand that that rage was not directed at you, no matter how much it seemed that way at the time. It was the rage I carry with me every day, everywhere I go, because of the nature of human life, and my inability to change it._

_And, lastly, allow me to profess the truth once again:_

_I did not love her, Light. The sentiment I held for her was fraternal in nature. She was charming in her way, and I felt responsible for her well-being. I shared no intimacy with her, physical or otherwise. I have been honest with you from the very start._

_Your Suitor, now, and until the moment you decide otherwise,_

_L_

 

* * *

 

_L,_

_You ask me to give myself leave to feel. I cannot help but view our quarrel as having been directly caused by that very thing. I am not skilled in maintaining my head when my heart comes into play. I seem to function wholly on one or the other, and, when it is the latter, I lose all sense. If I had kept the core of me under careful discipline, I cannot see how the disagreement would have escalated as it did. Or rather, I cannot see it beginning at all._

 

 _As to your question of why I behaved in such a manner, I grant that you have every right and reason to ask that of me. As I said above, when my heart is given leave to speak, I seem not to be capable of much sense. We were_ _building such a rapport between us. Please believe me when I say it is not without value to me. I hope very fervently that we will be able to continue building that rapport again, and that my immaturity has not shattered the possibility. As to my opinion of you…it has not changed. I realize that this may be difficult for you to believe, but it is the truth. Yes, I knew you to be a widower. Yes, we had already discussed your previous marriage at length. The accusations I levied against you…the charges that you were fraudulent in your dealings with me, and that you spoke untruths…I apologize most sincerely for them. I do not believe you to be a liar. I…was simply unprepared for the show of the sentiment you felt toward her. Even a sentiment which you deem fraternal bears significance, in my mind._

_I recall mentioning to you, previously, that I believed myself capable of a possessive tendency. Do you not now see the proof?_

_I have been shown your trustworthiness…the deficiency you speak of does indeed lie with me. I regret that I cannot write at length about it. I am trying, L, to be as forthright as I can be, but some things are buried deep. Whether they are matters of personality or of a simple but pathological need for privacy, I cannot say._

_Pray, be patient. Recognize in me all that you have already broken free of the iron gates of my reserve._

 

_As to the powerlessness you feel…I can well understand. It is only human to want to prevent death, in ourselves and in those we care for. Is your belief in something greater not a comfort to you? For myself…I suppose I accept the inevitability of death because there is no choice in the matter. To contemplate the end of my mother, or father, or sister’s lives is an awful pastime. I do not engage in it. And to contemplate the end of yours…I dare not consider it for any length of time._

_But you are not powerless, L. Not really. You have surely prevented untimely deaths throughout your career as a detective. I know it. You have certainly prevented my own - and that I shall never forget, nor cease to be grateful for. If anything, you have more control over life than anyone else. You see dangers and remove them from the lives of innocents. Never undervalue that. Your grandfather is abundantly proud of you, and I am no less proud to be on your arm._

_Your Match,_

_Light_

 

* * *

 

_Light,_

_I see things differently. To me, your reluctance to state your feelings outright creates a conflict within yourself. You want one thing, but you feel another. You desire control and what you feel will not be contained. And because you feel this conflict to the core of your being, you are unable to present your authentic self to the world, to me, which necessarily brings conflict into your interactions. I cannot help but feel that there remains a significant portion of explanation inside you, that you refuse to let out. Can you not tell me? Can you not try?_

_On a related note, I believe it would do you good to cease viewing your own emotions through a lens of battle. Your emotions are as much a part of you as your mind, or spirit, or arm, or leg. You mustn’t view them as invaders into occupied territory. Let us take the possessiveness of which you speak, for example. If, for a moment, you accepted this possessiveness, you might have an easier time of understanding it. If indeed you feel it for me, what harm could there be in expressing it? Surely I would not object to it, as your Suitor. Mightn’t I even be pleased by its presence?_

_I am beginning to understand the depth of your need for privacy, and I shall respect it. We need not broach the topic again unless it is by your choosing. And I shall endeavor to keep in mind those things that you have already allowed me to bear witness to. Forgive me my greed in this area. There is, quite literally, no one else like you in this world, and I sometimes demand too much of that which interests me._

_On this subject, you must find it in yourself to believe me. In every way, you are desirable. Perhaps I have been too subtle up to now. I thought that a deference to the customs here would put you at your ease, and instead I see it may have served only to obscure my meaning. Let me be clear: I want you, Light. I know not how you can be ignorant of this fact. You are a fox. Eyes follow you wherever you go, and voices shout your name in hopes of garnering your attention. If you ever once thought my eyes and my voice not among those, you have been monumentally mistaken._

_I must see you again. Our falling out, combined with this bitter absence, has produced a dreadful craving of your company. Grandfather has chastised me often for my moping about the house and generally spending my every breath in idle wonderment of your opinion of me. And Mr. Matsuda always has such a downtrodden expression when he mentions the length with which you and I have gone without a meeting._

_Your Suitor,_

_L_

_P.S. – I’ve an idea for our next meeting. While it isn’t a traditional activity for Courting couples, I suspect that you might like it. It can be done in the gardens at my home…I fancy that you have been left with a rather sour impression of it and I should like to rectify that. For now, I should also like to keep it a surprise. Is this acceptable to you?_

* * *

 

_L,_

 

_Though I do wish our quarrel had been staged elsewhere, I have a great fondness for your manor. Never think otherwise. It is your home._

_Likewise, a lack of tradition has never bothered me overmuch. I look forward to our next meeting. Shall we say June the 2nd? That there will be a surprise involved will necessarily compel me to attempt to uncover it, but I doubt that you will be unable to keep me in suspense._

 

_As for the rest of your letter…you read me too well, at times. Understanding my need for privacy will make it easy for you to see why such perceptiveness sometimes…unnerves me. However, your perceptiveness is born of your intelligence, and there are few things I respect more than a fierce mind._

_Yes, there is more that I have left unsaid. However, the problem is not that I do not understand the reason for my possessiveness. I understand it with a painfully perfect clarity. It is that I know that you and I do not occupy the same position, in relation to one another. I am a captive. I have no way out of my predicament. There is no recourse for me. In short, I lack independence. And that is something which you possess in abundance. You have every way out. On a whim, you might decide that this Match no longer suits your purposes, and you could be rid of me with no second glance. I do not have that freedom._

_Your Match,_

_Light_

* * *

 

_L,_

_Please give me your assurance that you are well. I know your line of work is not without serious hazards to life and limb and it has been several days now with no reply from you. I require a statement of your health, at a minimum._

 

_Your Match,_

_Light_

 

* * *

 

_Light,_

 

_My physical health is without affliction. Your inquiry was kind but unnecessary._

_I understand your position clearly. Please accept my apologies for the liberties I have taken up to now. I labored under a misapprehension that you have presently set to rights. I shall not force my affections upon you henceforth and shall aim instead to execute my responsibilities as a Suitor with all due propriety._

_Your Suitor,_

_L_

* * *

 

_L,_

 

_You misunderstand. It is not my pocketbook, or my station, or my future wealth that I referred to when I mentioned my lack of independence. It is my heart, L. I know not how you persuade me to grant you ever more intimacies, when I grant them to no one else, but somehow you do. Perhaps, having fallen so freely and so deeply, I have decided to simply cast myself over the cliff’s edge and be done with it._

_Here it is: My heart is what I find lacking in independence. My heart has no way out, L. No way out from you. No independence from you. You have stolen it from me, and I do not even want it back. Do you now see my predicament? The peril with which I face you? The power you hold over me? It is a power I do not hold over you in turn. I reflect on the magnitude of my infatuation and I cannot think it possible that you could be thus infatuated with me, an inexperienced, uneducated farmhand. And so I lie in wait for the moment that you must tell me you do not return my affections. You would tell me so in such a polite, kind manner. You would pity me, and I cannot bear it. That I will never steal your heart away as you have stolen mine shall cause me pain every second that I draw breath._

_You gave me clarity and I can only think it fair to return the same to you. So there it is. I have not ever before lost my composure as I did with you. You strip me of my power over myself. You strip me of my power in all things. If you want me, L, I find it nigh impossible to believe that you could want me as much as I want you. It seems like a fantasy to expect that much feeling from you. That much desire._

_So now you know. At the very least, Suitor mine, do not think me a coward._

_Yours,_

_Light_

* * *

When Light follows Matsuda down the front lane and to L’s carriage, his heart races and his palms sweat. It is the day of their next meeting, and Light has not heard from L since Light’s last letter. Granted, there was not even a full day between Matsuda picking up that letter for delivery and this meeting. But if ever Light wanted a swift reply from L, this would have been the time.

 

The sky is a clear blue, and several puffy clouds hang in it. It is late morning, and the sun is out and shining cheerfully. Light feels as though the weather is mocking him for his nervousness.

 

“Enjoy yourself, dear,” Mother had said, when Light had left.

 

At this moment, Light doesn’t see how he possibly could. Writing his last letter felt like ripping off his armor - his very clothing, even - and standing naked and vulnerable before L. Sometimes, during the writing of it, Light felt as though it was only his stubborn pride that allowed him to continue setting quill to paper. It was the need to show L that he was wrong, and explain why.

 

Light tells himself over and over that what’s done is done, and that L has likely already read the letter in its entirety. Whatever his response is will not be altered by Light’s fretting.

 

He smoothes his hair down compulsively. Straightens his sleeves.

 

“I’m so glad you two are meeting up again!” Matsuda says as he leads Light down the lane. “You know, I had almost felt like you’d had a falling out last time. You seemed so down, Light! But not anymore. And that’s good, because I really think this thing with Mr. Lawliet is going places.”

 

Light feels a wave a nausea slam into him.

 

“Everything’s fine between us, Matsuda,” he forces himself to say, even though he feels anything but. He feels like he is standing at the edge of a precipice, and there is either a beautiful waterfall there with a clear blue pool underneath, or a gaping chasm of sharp rocks.

 

And the choice is entirely up to L.

 

They reach the carriage, and Matsuda climbs into the driver’s seat. L is nowhere to be seen.

 

Light is suddenly, irrationally angry. He immediately decides not to mention the fact that L has _always_ gotten out and held the carriage door for him. Every single meeting. And now, after Light bears his damned soul to L, he loses that small treasure?

 

What _is_ it with L and pushing Light’s buttons? Why must everything be so _difficult_? If L is to reject him, he ought to at least do it with some propriety. He’s still Light’s Suitor, after all. Perhaps Light was overly generous to think that L would reject his affections kindly. Perhaps L will be a right villain about it all.

 

Light opens the carriage door and climbs in.

 

L is waiting there, sitting on his carriage bench and looking better than he has any right to. He smiles when he sees Light. “Light, I am so happy to see - ”

 

“Did you get my letter?” Light demands, interrupting him. He has no time for pleasantries. He needs an answer. Now.

 

He settles himself into the opposite bench and looks at L expectantly.

 

L shuts his mouth. He reaches into his breast pocket and pulls out a sheet of paper, delicately, using only two fingers. Light recognizes it as the letter he last sent. L holds it aloft, in Light’s plain view.

 

 “I did indeed,” he says. He is wearing a bit of a smirk.  

 

Light waits, but nothing more is forthcoming.

 

“Well?” he asks. “What is your reaction to it? Do you take my meaning?”

 

And L only stares at him, features painted with a knowing, charmed, and fondly exasperated look.

 

“L, for the gods’ sake, _say_ something!”

 

“You are _maddening_ , Light, do you know that?” he asks softly.

 

Then, before Light knows what is happening, L _lunges_ at him. He ends up on his knees in front of Light, right on the carriage floor. He slides a hand into Light’s hair, clutches some of the locks, and pulls him into a searing kiss.

 

It is brutally passionate: fast, deep, and consuming. L is ferocious in his theft of Light’s mouth. With his very presence, he demands that Light open for him. And Light does, quickly. L swipes his tongue forward and pulls it back, only to dip deeper the next time.

 

Light is stunned into immobility at first, this being not at all what he had expected. But after a moment, he sinks into the present, and feels every touch with piercing clarity. L steals his breath away, swallowing up every one of his small sounds of surprised pleasure. He meets L’s advances with his own, taking L’s wild hair in both hands and kissing back. He has never done this before – he scarcely knows where to begin – but he gives L’s movements careful attention and hopes that matching them will be satisfactory for now.

 

Matsuda’s voice sounds from the driver’s seat, calling insistently, “Hey, you guys, is everything okay in there? I heard a thump!"   

 

L pulls away from Light, making a “tch” sort of sound. He takes a few deep breaths and casts his eyes down and to the left, to the carpeted floor. He calls back, “Fine, Mr. Matsuda. Just drive.”

 

Light laughs huskily at this. The sound escapes out of him without his conscious consent. He barely lets L finish speaking before taking his mouth back.

 

“Oh, okay!” comes Matsuda’s bright voice. “I guess the carriage just hit a bump or something. Ha ha ha!”

 

This is what serves as mood music for them as L kisses Light with more of that violent hunger. Light finds that when he lets L simply _take_ of him, L becomes, if anything, more aggressive. His hands slide under Light’s knees and pull them apart. L comes closer, kneeling now in between Light’s thighs. They do not touch below the waist, but it is a near thing. Light’s pulse is at a gallop.

 

“You see? You are _maddening_ , Light Yagami,” L says again, as soon as they separate.  

 

“Oh, and I suppose your temper is as even and smooth as the desert sands?” Light retorts. He dives back in, kissing L in several short, intense bursts.

 

L pulls back. Every phrase is broken up and punctuated by a kiss as he speaks. “My temper would be” _kiss_ “more even” _kiss_ “if you would simply be reasonable.” _Long kiss._ “Can you not see the effect you have on me? Can you not see that my heart, too, is your captive? Every bit as much as yours is mine?”

 

A dizzying rush of…just… _joy_ …spreads through Light at these words. He has never felt so elated. Part of him is still reeling from L’s kiss, L laying claim to him in this new way, and part of him is giddy. His thoughts run in an endless, thrilled loop.

 

_He feels it too. He feels it too. He feels it too he feels it too he feels it too…_

 

“Perhaps I would rather be shown,” he finds himself saying, impishly.

 

In answer, L takes his mouth again, and they kiss more deeply than ever. L’s hands come to rest on the tops of Light’s thighs as they do. He keeps them there, doing nothing further. A wicked part of Light is fixated on how the warmth of them feels there; the rightness of L’s touch is quickly becoming his undoing.

 

At a particularly pleasing brush of L’s lips, Light makes a needy sound. He tilts his jaw at one angle, to give them both more freedom of movement.

 

L pulls back immediately. “This is definitely not in accordance with Courtship rules,” he says. Light cannot decide if he is asking a question or making a statement of fact.

 

L’s black eyes meet his. They have a slightly foggy, drunk sort of look to them, which Light decides he loves.

 

“Definitely not,” Light says breathlessly.

 

He pulls L right back to him.

 

* * *

 

L’s gardens are, if anything, more beautiful behind the house than in front of it. Light thinks that it figures that L would keep the best to himself, private. There are lilacs and peonies and roses in pinks, yellows, and reds. An iron table set, painted white and accompanied by two chairs, sits to one side. The sweet fragrance of the flowers wafts gently over the lawn.

 

With the sun shining brightly down on them, and the sounds of birds singing sweetly in the trees nearby, Light cannot fathom the despair he felt only two weeks ago. This warm June day seems so far removed from any gloom.

 

And L is at his side, in every way. L feels these trembling stirrings…these irrational sensations. Light knows it in the way their hands found each other as they walk the yard. He sees in the way their fingers automatically laced themselves together. He feels it in the way L’s mouth crashed into his only an hour before.

 

They have broken the statutes of Courtship…they both know it. But Light cannot seem to make himself repentant.

 

He hopes that L never finds it in _himself_ to repent, either. He doesn’t want their transgressions to end.

 

They come to the exact middle of the gardens and L removes his hand from Light’s grip. He takes hold of Light’s shoulders, positioning him so that they are facing each other.

 

Light laughs a bit, unsure. “Er…what are we doing?”

 

L’s hands fall to his sides. He squares his shoulders and lifts his chin just ever so much. “I have spent…a great deal of time…contemplating an activity that we might partake of together that will soften the differences in our stations.”

 

Light tilts his head at L. “…soften? What did you have in mind?”

 

“Well, Light,” L begins. “You will never be content to stand in the shadows, or to live only as someone else’s husband.”

 

“L, honestly, it is an honor to be at your side. You mustn’t think me an opportunist.”

 

“No no…nothing like that. I mean only that I see your innate independence. You are action-oriented. You desire to _do_ something with your life. And you are equal to me, in every way that matters. Why, then, should you not be able to do what I do?” L asks rhetorically.

 

“I…don’t follow,” Light admits. “Wait…you’re thinking that I could make a detective one day. And you thought that since I seem to have an interest in the career, I ought to be prepared for the kinds of things it entails.” Light takes in L’s stance, and the large, open space he has taken Light to.

 

He doesn’t need more than another second to think through the implications and figure it out.

 

“You want to teach me how to fight?”

 

L nods. “If you are amenable, that is. Not to mention that it will likely allow your mind to rest a bit. Though you do not often speak of it, I know that you are made restless by the case. The attempt made against you weighs on you constantly. If you were shown something of self-defense, you might feel more at ease. Anyway…if you are not amenable, only say the word. We can surely find something else with which to occupy ourselves.”

 

“I’m amenable,” Light says quickly. Father has never allowed Light to learn much of policehand’s work. He feared for Light’s safety, primarily, but also assumed that their station meant that Light’s best chance of prosperity was to marry someone upperclassed.

 

This was not for Light’s lack of desire to learn. He has felt unprepared all of his life, knowing that the world was bigger and more dangerous than his family’s small farm.

 

“I’m amenable,” Light says again. “Teach me.”

 

And so they begin. First, L teaches him how to fall without injuring himself. Light lands on the soft earth over and over, sure that he will bruise himself, sure that he will return home dirty, but he is determined. He continues, and after a while, L pronounces his technique satisfactory.

 

What he actually says is, “Light will hurt himself far less than anyone else losing a fistfight.”

 

But Light takes that as a good thing. He reaches up from where he is laying on the ground, and L takes his hand, pulling him up again.

 

Light dusts off his pants and asks, “Is this the part where you show me how to _not_ lose?”

 

L grins at him wryly. “This is the part where I _begin_ to show you that. We won’t finish here. As long as men find reason for violence, there will be reason to practice their technique.”

 

“So, we won’t ever be finished, is what you’re saying,” Light concludes aloud. He makes sure to look into L’s eyes as he says it, and gives L a small grin.

 

“Precisely, Light,” L replies. He looks back with a grin of his own. “We won’t ever be finished.”

 

Light feels confident that L took his meaning.

 

They practice. L is strong, and quick, and takes Light by surprise with nearly every strike. He is a masterful fighter, preferring to attack more with his legs than with his fists.

 

Light gives back as good as he gets, but L is also skilled in evasion, and Light only lands a solid blow here and there.

 

“You must predict my movements,” L says as he spins away. He isn’t even breathing heavily, the scoundrel.

 

Light himself is panting. “You aren’t an easy man to predict, you know.” He makes a valiant attempt to knock L to the ground by swiping his legs out from under him.

 

L jumps, _high_ , and evades him. All Light gets for his trouble is L’s counterattack: a solid kick to the ribs.

 

Light inhales sharply, and his hands fly to his right side. He doubles over and says breathlessly, “That…that was a good move. Show me…show me how to…do that.”

 

L comes over, close to him, and lays a hand on Light’s back. “I will. But first, you need to know how to defend yourself from those who already know how.”

 

Light nods, accepting this logic. He is still doubled over. He wheezes, “ _Gods_ , you’re strong.”

 

L chuckles. “Just practice, I assure you. Can you stand?”

 

Light straightens up, breathing slow and deep. Taking the deep breath doesn’t worsen his pain, and he knows that nothing is broken.

 

He is determined, despite the pain in his side. “Alright…so how I do stop you from doing that to me next time?”

 

L begins teaching him. He stays quite close as he is instructing Light in blocks, arranging his limbs this way and that. He makes sure Light knows which bones are strong enough to withstand certain forces and which are too small to be safely left to the task. L is close enough for Light to smell his skin.

 

_Focus, Yagami. Learn something._

 

With several slow, careful repetitions, Light gets it. He can block L’s kicks whether they come from his left or his right.

 

Even with only these basics in his mind, Light can imagine himself preventing misdeeds. He might stop a would-be bread thief. He might protect the weak from assaults by the strong.

 

He might _do_ something with his life besides plant and rake and plow and pick.

 

For the first time, Light feels as though he could contribute something to the world. That he could make a difference.

 

They spend hours working, and the sun is a warm wash of orange low in the sky before they agree to stop. They are both covered in a fair amount of dirt, and even L seems a bit tired.

 

“Shall we end here, Light?” he asks. “I believe you have made excellent progress.”

 

Light nods. He is pleased.

 

No…not ‘pleased.’ He is happy.

 

* * *

 

“I was a bit…ridiculous…about the entire thing, wasn’t I?” Light asks, when they are back in the carriage. It is rolling along gently, taking the road back to Autumn Pass. L is sitting next to him, holding his hand and rubbing his thumb back and forth slowly over Light’s skin. It is absurdly distracting.

 

Light knows he doesn’t have to clarify what it is that he is referring to.

 

“You were more than a _bit_ ridiculous,” L murmurs. Light doesn’t need to look at him to know that he is grinning as he speaks the words.

 

Light looks anyway.

 

“Well, surely you can see how it _looked_ , L,” Light says, defending himself.

 

L’s voice softens from its teasing tone. “Hmmm…yes. I can see that. But you understand now, don’t you?”

 

Light nods. “I understand. She wasn’t your love but she was still someone who mattered.”

 

“A life was lost. Someone ought to care. Someone ought to _remember_ , Light,” L says. His eyes fall to the silver carpet. He suddenly looks quiet and small.

 

And Light is reminded once again of L being orphaned. Light imagines that one whose parents were lost, especially so early and so tragically, might find themselves especially sensitive about death.

 

“It wasn’t even my own idea to keep the rings on Maneesh’s collar,” L continues, looking up. “It was Misa’s, if you can believe that. She has a skill for crafting mementos of sentiment.”

 

“You understand that I’m not ridiculous enough to fly into a rage over your memory of her, don’t you?” Light asks. It is essential to him that L understands that he is not some sort of lunatic. “I truly don’t want you to feel that you have to repress your past.”

 

“I understand that, Light,” L assures him, before leaning closer. “Now, enough talk of sad things. We’ve only so much time left alone together before I’m to return you home, and I should like to make the most of it.”

 

Light can’t help the smile that splits across his face, and L kisses him through it, teeth and all.

 

* * *

 

They spend very little time talking, after that. The rest of the journey home consists mainly of quiet within their small cocoon of privacy. It is broken occasionally by Light’s sharp inhales or L’s low sounds of appreciation. L’s lips are swollen against Light’s, and the curves of them become familiar to him. Light grows to learn what L enjoys, whether it is catching his lower lip between Light’s own and sucking gently, or backing off just a bit, and giving L full right of his mouth.

 

Oh, and when he does, if it is not the sweetest sin…

 

They do nothing save the kissing, both (in Light’s mind, at least) too enamored of that to try anything further. He can admit to some apprehension at the thought of more, anyway. They are already flouting Courtship regulations…to do more than this would be reckless at best and dangerous at worst.

 

Light shudders to think of what Father would say if he were to find them in a more compromising position.

 

L’s tongue slides past his lips, skimming against his own with a careful and skillful movement that has Light’s middle melting. His mind clouds over more than ever before, so much so that Light begins to fear for his consciousness.

 

He pulls back reluctantly.

 

Opening his eyes, Light finds that L is not watching him with an expression of desire, but rather of concern.

 

“Are you alright, Light?” he asks. His eyes search Light’s face.

 

“I’m fine,” Light says, laughing faintly. “I’m just a bit…lightheaded. Maybe the heat. Or the sparring.”

 

“Or the kissing?” asks L, quite droll.

 

Light laughs again. “Or that.”

 

But even after moments pass, the cloudy feeling in his head does not subside.

 

“Light, are you certain you are well?” L asks. “You are looking…rather pale.”

 

It is strange, Light notes, to realize that there actually _is_ something wrong with him. He shivers, despite the warmth of the day, and his skin breaks out into a cold sweat. The cloudy feeling in his head worsens, and his vision goes patchy.

 

“I…I think I might be…coming down with something,” Light says. His own voice sounds very far away.

 

“Light??” asks L. In a detached sort of way, Light realizes that he sounds alarmed.

 

The world tilts in front of him, and his vision goes from patchy to black.

 

“I…don’t feel well,” Light hears himself say.

 

“ _Light_!” shouts L, and then Light knows no more.

 

* * *

 

When his awareness returns, it returns in flickers and flashes. Light hears some things, sees others, but they are disjointed.

 

The sound of the carriage door being yanked open, and Matsuda’s stricken voice. “What’s wrong?”

 

The clearest things Light can sense are L’s arms around his torso.

 

 _That’s nice…_ he thinks.

 

L’s voice now. Always so measured…so refined…now sharp and shaking. “Light has lost consciousness…help me get him out of here. We need to get him inside.”

 

“I don’t…I don’t need - ” Light tries to protest. His vision blacks again before either L or Matsuda gives him any response.

 

* * *

 

“What _happened_?” Matsuda again. He must be up ahead…are they on the lane in the front yard?

 

When Light opens his eyes, he is staring at the sky, and is being jostled around unpleasantly. Above him, he can make out the spikey ends of L’s hair and the delicate slope of his nose.

 

L’s voice now. _(Much better than Matsuda’s_ Light thinks.) “I don’t know…I don’t _know_. Your guess is as good as mine. He needs to lie down. He needs water. He needs a _doctor_.”

 

Light realizes with a jolt that L is _carrying_ him. There is one arm under his shoulders and another under his knees. They are walking. Well, L is walking. Light is laying in his arms like someone feeble.

 

“L…put me _down_ ,” Light says, as sternly as he can manage. He feels himself tensing up. There is no way he can relax, weakened and looking so…so… _dependent_.

 

He might as well have been a tiny cottontail, for all the good it does him. When he speaks, L sounds like he thinks Light is being childish.

 

“Hush, Light. You shouldn’t talk. You _fainted_ ,” L tells him, looking down at him. L’s eyes hold the first shadow of fear that Light has even seen in them. He keeps walking.

 

“I’m…not an invalid,” Light argues. His voice is soft and breathy and embarrasses him.

 

“Light, for the gods’ sake, allow me this,” L snaps.

 

Light huffs but stops protesting. His head is aching something dreadful, anyway.

 

They reach what Light can only assume is the front door. Matsuda is talking in rapid bursts to whoever has answered.

 

Light sends up a quick prayer that it is Sayu. Better her than Mother. Or Father. Though Light supposes they will find out about the whole situation soon, regardless.

 

“ – don’t know how it happened, exactly, I just opened the door and there they were and Light was completely out of it, all slumped over in his seat, and Mr. Lawliet says he doesn’t know what’s wrong with him - ”

 

A gasp, and Light can tell that it is Father that Matsuda is talking to. That sound of horrified protectiveness can only belong to him.

 

“Light!” Father breathes out anxiously.

 

“Soichiro, I know it’s against the rules but he couldn’t walk! And Mr. Lawliet insisted on carrying him into the house! I offered to do it but there was nothing I could say to make him change his mind!” babbles Matsuda, sounding extremely apprehensive.

 

Light sees the threshold of the front door pass into view as L carries him inside, carefully maneuvering them both sideways through it.

 

“Dad, I’m alright,” Light says. He is trying to head off the hurricane that he knows will be brewing in his father at seeing him in this state. “I just…got a little dizzy.”

 

But it isn’t strictly true that Light is alright. He is still sweaty all over, and chills wrack through his bones over and over again. L’s shirt feels cold against the heat of his skin.

 

Father pays Light no mind at all.

 

“Mr. Lawliet, what on _earth_ happened? He was perfectly fine when he left the house today,” Father demands.

 

L has the bravery (or the gall) to keep right on walking through the house. Light sees the walls of their small sitting room pass him by until he finds himself in the kitchen.

 

L talks as he goes. “We had our meeting at my manor, just as was agreed upon,” he says, still speaking in that sharp, anxious voice. “I thought it wise to show Light a bit of self-defense, sparring and the like, and he seemed perfectly fine throughout. We were outside in the sun, of course, but he is usually out of doors, is he not? Surely that could not be the cause. Or the whole cause. Has anything like this ever happened to him before?”

 

“Absolutely not,” Father answers tightly. “Why, Light hardly ever gets sick at all! There must be something else. What else happened?”

 

“Dad, it’s not his fault,” Light says, determined to make his father listen.

 

He feels himself being lowered onto what can only be his bed. L lays him there with the utmost gentleness, and Light again wants to protest the treatment. It is as if he is a newborn lamb, or some other such thing. The pillow is cold against his hair, and Light shivers all over again.

 

L has the audacity to unlace Light’s shoes, pull them off, and then pull blankets up over Light as well.

 

Then Mother enters, and stays only _slightly_ calmer than Father about the entire thing.

 

“Mr. Lawliet? Light? What’s happened?” Light hears her asks. She comes near to his bed and Light feels her hand pass over his hair. When he opens his eyes to look at her, he sees only her blurry outline. Every light in the house seems too bright. “Light, how are you feeling? Oh, you look awful - ”

 

“I just got a little dizzy, Mother, it’s nothing - ”

 

“He fainted, dear, and Mr. Lawliet should be explaining what _caused_ that _any_ _second_ _now_ \- ”

 

“Sachiko, I don’t know what happened! I opened the carriage door and there Light was - ”

 

“Pray, everyone, quiet,” L says firmly.

 

Everyone goes silent. Even in his feverish haze, Light spares a thought for L’s ability to command a room.

 

“Mr. Matsuda,” says L, still in that same firm voice. “Fetch Dr. Kuroki on Primrose Lane, with all haste. Bring him here. Tell him I shall pay him whatever he likes if he comes _immediately_.”

 

Evidently, Matsuda does as he’s told, as Light doesn’t hear from him again.

 

L speaks again. “Master Yagami, Mistress Yagami, as I said, Light and I spent our meeting sparring…I showed him a bit of self-defense and he showed no sign of any illness at all.” Here there is a minute pause. “In the interest of Light’s health, I feel obliged to tell you that that is not the only activity of which we partook. We - ”

 

Light struggles to sit up at that, interrupting him. “L, come now, that isn’t necessary - ”

 

“Light, suppose such a thing were relevant to your fainting. We need to - ”

 

“It is _not relevant_ , L - ”

 

“ _Continue_ , Mr. Lawliet,” says Father, with a certain level of authority in his tone.

 

Light resigns himself to his fate, sighing deeply.

 

“We were necking in the carriage afterward,” L tells them. Light is gratified to hear a bit of embarrassed pleasure in his words.

 

“Oh gods,” Father mutters.

 

Mother gives a fond sort of sigh, still stroking Light’s hair, and Light doesn’t know whether to be relieved or throw his pillow over his head and smother himself.

 

“I am aware that this is contrary to Courtship regulations and I take full responsibility,” L continues. “We went no further than that, I can assure you. But if it is of any relevance to the situation at hand, I want the information known.”

 

Then Light hears the sound of a chair’s legs dragging across the kitchen floor and coming toward him. He knows that L is sitting near even before he feels L’s smooth palm slip into his hand.

 

“Mr. Yagami, if you must break our Courtship then you must but I will not leave Light’s side until I know that he is well,” L says.

 

He sounds like he means it.

 

And in the silence that follows, Light slips once again into unconsciousness.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Last chapter, I think many people got the impression that L and Light were actually going to break up. As you can see, not so! Light was just…that emotional about the whole thing. And L did get pretty angry. So from his perspective, there was a strong possibility that L would just end it. He was being melodramatic. Lol He is going through a big change in his life without much of a support system (mostly because he won’t allow himself to have one, to be honest) and this influences a lot of how he sees things. He is going to from completely closed to…slightly open, at least with L. And that’s a big deal to Light. He is also leaving his role as a child and entering his role as an adult, all the while navigating the changes in station that marrying L will bring.
> 
> Plus, the murder plot.
> 
> Just like in canon, L’s entrance into his life really rocks Light’s world. 
> 
> That being said, I hope this chapter and their reconciliation seems believable! I think L is quite a passionate person inside (though depending on the persona he uses, he either hides it completely or shows only parts). And Light is actually the more thinking-type of the two. So L has to, in many ways, lead Light into reconciling his own feelings with himself. Once that happens, they can form a much more solid partnership – as I hopefully show here! 
> 
> Now…as for what has happened to Light, I would love to hear your theories! There are several to choose from. 
> 
> …is it wrong that I find it fun to write him incapacitated?
> 
> BC3, never stop being you. This fic would not be half of what it is without your touch! 
> 
> Thank you again to everyone reading and commenting and reviewing, most especially those that have been there chapter after chapter. You are all so valued! 
> 
> Let me know what you think of this chapter, and I will see you all at the next one! (This one was written in a whirlwind, please don’t be surprised if later ones do not come out this fast!)
> 
> \- Magic


	13. Chapter Thirteen

Light’s head is _killing_ him. There is a throbbing ache at his temples and around his eyes that will not subside, no matter how he tosses and turns in his bed. He cannot get comfortable. He is either too hot or too cold. When he finds himself too hot, he throws off his blanket. But immediately after, he breaks into uncontrollable shivering.

 

When this happens, he reaches for the blanket blindly. His eyes sting and burn and water even when he keeps them shut, and he doesn’t dare open them.

 

It is L who draws the blanket back over his shoulders, careful and attentive. Light feels his hand slip out of Light’s hold on it, and then the rough wool of the blanket is scratching his chin. L tucks the ends under Light’s arms.

 

“Are you thirsty, Light?” he murmurs. His voice is like cool water.

 

Light shakes his head minutely. He speaks, paying careful attention to talking slowly and not stammering with the force of his shivers.  “You don’t…need to stay…I’ll be fine.”

 

Light hears a bit of a rustling from L’s direction, as if he is repositioning himself in his chair.

 

“I shall remain here, Mr. Lawliet-to-be,” L says quietly. “I am afraid you are powerless to stop me.”

 

Despite Light’s current physical misery, he finds himself fighting a smile.

 

“Your father, though…” L muses. “He is rather a different story.”

 

Mother and Father are somewhere nearby. Probably in the corner by the hearth. (Father will want to keep L within his sights and Mother will want to be polite and not leave an honored guest unattended.) Light can hear them quarreling in what they surely think are discreet tones. No doubt L can hear them just as well as Light can.

 

“They’ve already broken rules!” Father is saying, in a harsh whisper. “Are we to allow it to continue under our very roof?”

 

“Soichiro, really…” this from Mother. Cajoling. Warm. “Nearly all Courting couples break those rules at some point. Don’t you remember our younger days?”

 

“We were different,” Father protests. “You and I were _mature_ , Sachiko. Light isn’t even of age yet, and Mr. Lawliet is scarcely old enough to be a man in his own right.”

 

“Dear, I was younger even than Light is now,” Mother says. Light can hear the smile in her voice. “And there is a reason you accepted Mr. Lawliet’s Suit, when you rejected all the others.”  

 

“Sachiko, see reason. Where will he sleep? Surely you aren’t suggesting we allow him into Light’s be - ”

 

“We’ll offer him the sitting room…the armchair there. It won’t be what he’s used to, certainly, but ‘twill have to do, if he wants to stay,” whispers Mother sensibly.

 

There is a long pause after that. Light can’t hear Father or Mother say anything else. He turns onto his side, aching all over. He fidgets under the blankets, drawing his knees up to his chest in an effort to get warmer. He wonders what L is thinking. Only the pounding in his head keeps his mortification at Father’s attitude at bay.

 

Slowly, carefully, he opens his eyes. They water immediately, smarting with pain. His fever must be high. He feels as though his eyeballs are cooking inside his skull, no matter that he knows that this cannot possibly be so.

 

Light is facing L. He sees that L has one foot up on his chair, knee against his chest and his chin on top of it. His huge, black eyes are watching Light steadily.

 

“You ought to sleep,” L murmurs.

 

“I can’t,” Light tells him, voice scratchy like the pillow under his head.

 

Mother speaks again (she and Father are indeed standing by hearth, just as Light suspected). L’s head turns fractionally in their direction.

 

“They have _feelings_ for each other, dear,” Mother says quietly. Not quietly enough. “It’s as plain as the noses on their faces. Separating them would be a cruelty. Especially now. Light’s never been so happy. And why, just look at the worry on Mr. Lawliet’s face! He may be the head of a Gentry household but he is still so _young_. And with only an aging grandfather for family, too…we must be here for him.”

 

Light reminds himself that he has already said as much about his feelings to L himself. There is no reason to blush. It matters not how uncomfortable it is to hear the words spoken from his mother’s mouth.

 

And he has heard nothing less from L about his own side of things, hasn’t he? Oughtn’t they handle the topic as adults?

 

Light looks at L and finds him scratching at the back of his head. He looks at Light from under his eyelashes, giving him a small, conspiratorial grin. Something in Light’s chest squeezes in on itself and then backflips. It is an odd sensation, when coupled with the pounding in his head.

 

Father clears his throat gruffly. “Be that as it may, you can’t think that we ought to allow them…privileges…reserved for married couples. They _aren’t yet married_ , Sachiko _._ ”

 

“I am in complete agreement with you,” says Mother softly. “As I said, Mr. Lawliet may retire himself to the sitting room for sleeping, and it shall all be quite proper.”

 

“And we are to simply trust that he will remain there all night, are we?” whispers Father harshly. “Even as you and I and Sayu are all asleep upstairs?”

 

“Mr. Lawliet would surely not attempt anything indecorous in our home, dear,” whispers Mother. Something in Father’s expression must reveal his assessment of this idea quite clearly indeed, for there is a brief silence, and then Mother quickly says, “Matsuda would be very happy to maintain his position chaperoning, I think. When the rest of us are sleeping, at any rate.”

 

Father whispers something then, too quietly for Light to make out the words. His eyes take to stinging painfully again, feeling like they are melting within their sockets, and he shuts them. He feels what can only be L’s hand, pushing his bangs back from his forehead. Mother replies to Father in soothing tones, but these words are much too soft for Light to hear.

 

“Hello, hello!” a jovial voice suddenly calls out, from the direction of the front door. Light doesn’t recognize it.

 

He opens his eyes immediately, despite the pain. There is no one in the kitchen.

 

The voice booms again, echoing off of the walls and floorboards. A smile is evident in the very words. “Dr. Kuroki, at your service! I came as fast as those horses could carry me, which was considerably fast, I must say! I hear the Match of Mr. L Lawliet himself is ill, and if there is anyone for whom I would make haste, it is surely him!”

 

Mother abruptly cuts herself off, brushing her hands off upon her skirts and hurrying out of the kitchen. She goes in the direction of the voice, and Light hears her greet their visitor.

 

“Doctor, how good of you to stop by at such late notice. I am Sachiko Yagami, and my husband, Soichiro is just inside. Please, come this way,” she says, the words running together like water. “It’s my son, you see, Light…he has fainted! He’s never done that before, doctor, and he looks _awfully_ pale, and ever so poorly - ”

 

Light hears footsteps approaching, careful _clacks_ and _clocks_ on the old floorboards. Dr. Kuroki is making small murmurs of assent to the things Mother says.

 

Light hastens to sit up. He has always been unwilling to allow strangers to view him in anything resembling a position of vulnerability. He levers himself up onto his elbows in bed, but L lays a hand on his chest, pushing him down again gently.

 

“Light, you mustn’t,” he murmurs.

 

Light finds himself too weak to fight this physically. His head swims and swirls when he tries, and so he settles for huffing exasperatedly instead.  

 

“I must surely have been a fool, to have supposed you could have been anything other than a stubborn patient,” L continues, under his breath. His lips pull into a wry smile but Light can see the tense edge of worry laced into it.

 

“L…” Light feels compelled to say. “I shall…trounce you…when next we spar. Mark my words.”

 

L smiles again - this time, it is a bit clearer and a bit purer.

 

“I should like to see you try,” he murmurs, just before Dr. Kuroki and Mother come into the kitchen.

 

Dr. Kuroki, it turns out, is an extremely thin, elderly man with gray hair and a matching gray mustache. He is shorter than Mother. He walks with a distinct limp, as though his left knee is severely weak. There are glasses sitting primly on the bridge of his nose and a large black satchel in his right hand. It is hard to believe that a voice so large can come from a man so small.

 

“Mr. L Lawliet,” he booms, as soon as he lays eyes on L. He bows in his direction. “I haven’t seen you since you were in diapers! My, how you’ve grown! Why, the last I heard, you were sailing to the North Islands! What brings you back to Autumn Pass, after so many years? Ah wait…don’t tell me, don’t tell me! You are solving some sort of crime, yes?”

 

L stands, bowing to the doctor in return. “Precisely, Dr. Kuroki. It is good to see you.”

 

“Keeping well, then? No ailments?”

 

“None whatsoever, Doctor. I trust you are the same?”

 

“No complaints, lad, no complaints. I’ve a bit of the psoriatic attacking this knee of mine but what can I do, eh? I’m not in one of those blasted wheeled chairs, am I? Still up and going about, and that’s quite enough for a man my age to be on with, I should think. But listen to me go on and on when there is work to be done! Now then…who is our patient?” the doctor asks.  

 

“It is my fiancé, Light,” L says.

 

“Solving crime _and_ getting hitched…you are a busy one, Mr. Lawliet!” interjects Dr. Kuroki.

 

L nods, turning to Light. He speaks the rest of the words while looking at him, instead of at the doctor. “As Mistress Yagami was saying, he fainted. I was with him at the time…it was after a bout of sparring, you see.”

 

“And necking,” Father grumbles, under his breath but somehow still distinct enough for everyone in the vicinity to make it out clearly.

 

Dr. Kuroki looks up in his direction.

 

“Ah, you must be Master Yagami, I take it?” he asks of Father.

 

Father bows in his direction, a bit stiffly.

 

“Soichiro Yagami, sir. A pleasure to meet you,” he says.

 

Light senses that he is discomforted by the doctor’s presence…or perhaps by L’s presence combined _with_ the doctor’s presence. Father and Mother have never been well-off enough to afford the services of a doctor. Whenever Sayu or Light had been ill, Mother had always tended to them herself, and they always came through whatever it was unscathed. She would sometimes consult the advice of another mom nearby, but that was all. She would often tell Light that her mother before her had operated in the same manner, and that Mother herself was healthier today for that: she never was sent to a doctor, or a Sickhouse, and exposed to whatever was ailing the ill persons there.

 

But Light knows that Father is caught in a bit of a delicate social position now. They are gathered in his home, where he is seen to be the governing figure. Mother would be next in line. And neither of them have the gold or silver needed to pay someone like a doctor for their services.

 

Which would lead to L stepping in and covering the expense, which would be a clear usurpation of Father’s authority in his own home. Well…it would be _seen_ as a usurpation. Light knows that L himself would not view it that way, but Father surely would.

 

“A pleasure to make you acquaintance, Master Yagami,” says Dr. Kuroki warmly.

 

Light thanks whomever gods might be listening that the doctor does not comment on the necking.

 

He comes to Light’s bedside, setting his bag onto the floor as he does. He crouches down so that he is at eye level. He peers at Light through his round spectacles as though Light is a picture in a Schoolhouse textbook.

 

“A pleasure to meet you, as well, Mr. Light Yagami. How do you do, son?” Dr. Kuroki asks.

 

“The pleasure…is all mine…doctor,” Light manages to say. He _hates_ this: meeting someone, especially an old acquaintance of L’s, while he is looking sickly and feeling like death.

 

“Irritated vocal cords, I hear,” the doctor says. He touches the back of his hand to Light’s forehead. “And quite feverish, too, yes…how long has he been this way?” he asks, turning to L.

 

“Not even an hour. He simply _fainted_ , and seemed to have gone in and out consciousness afterward.”

 

“And it all happened all of a sudden, then? No warning?”

 

“None at all,” murmurs L. He speaks as though the universe has defied him in some way, for Light to become ill without his being able to foresee it.

 

“Did the fever seem to arrive before the fainting? Or after?” asks Dr. Kuroki.

 

There is a pause, during which no one replies, seemingly unsure of the answer.

 

“A-after,” Light says. He can speak for himself, after all.

 

The doctor nods. “Let me listen to you for a bit, hmm?” he asks.

 

Light has no idea what this means, until Dr. Kuroki leans forward, turns his head away from Light’s, and lays his left ear against Light’s chest. He holds it there, nodding at nothing and making small sounds of agreement to himself. He ‘listens’ in many different places on Light’s chest, and even his stomach too.

 

“Well, that settles it,” he says, once he straightens up again. He looks at Light with an unhappy sort of set to his lips. “You have the byoki, son.”

 

“What on earth is that?” asks Mother.

 

Dr. Kuroki stands up, knees creaking as he does. “Plainly put, it’s a miserable sort of sickness. Fevers, fainting, chills…loss of appetite. Do not alarm yourselves if you find him getting worse before he gets better. He will not be at all comfortable for the next few days, I’m afraid to say. The byoki is a _miserable_ business.”

 

“Is he in danger of…of losing his life?” Father asks. His tone is harsh and demanding. Light knows that this is the only way he can force himself to speak painful truths.

 

“If he were my age, that would be a real possibility,” Dr. Kuroki says, bluntly. “But given that he is still quite young, and looks to be in excellent form otherwise, no. It will be painful, but he will survive. He needs as much water as he can drink. His fever isn’t at its highest yet, and he will lose fluids quickly. If he does not drink enough, he will enter a delirium. That happened to me when I caught the thing…nasty business. I was in bed for days! My younger brother still swears I started speaking in tongues. He’s the one who passed it to me, you see.”

 

“Which brings me to something else: you must designate only one person to tend to him. The more of you in contact with him, the more of you that will be exposed. Being in the same room is fine, of course, but the byoki is spread by touch. There is no sense in putting the entire household at risk, after all. He will need to stay in bed, and drink plenty of water, as I said, and keep any movement to a minimum. Rest is the best thing for him now.”

 

“I shall tend to him,” L says immediately.  

 

“Mr. Lawliet, you shall surely be occupied with your own affairs in the coming days,” argues Father.

 

“Cancelled,” says L promptly. “And that which cannot be cancelled may simply be sent here by Matsuda. I can continue working at Light’s bedsit.”

 

“But the sheer time required…it shall be days, at least, as the doctor said, and - ” Father protests.

 

“If I might offer my own recommendation, Master Yagami?” Dr. Kuroki interrupts. “I should think that Mr. Lawliet would be the wisest choice. He has already been exposed, it seems, and rather…familiarly…at that.” He gives a delicate sort of cough, and everyone present surely knows to what he is referring.

 

Light resists the urge to pull the blankets over his head in mortification. _Perhaps we ought to just post a notice about it in the newspaper and be done with it, as the whole town is surely destined to know_ he thinks bitterly.

 

“And so it is highly unlikely,” continues the doctor. “That he will fall ill with it, or be put at any further risk by caring for Light now. As you’ve seen with Light, the byoki comes on quickly…Mr. Lawliet would already be ill, I should think, if he were at risk of catching it.”

 

L nods once, concisely. “It is no trouble, Master Yagami, I assure you.”

 

Father makes a “hmm” sort of noise, neither agreement nor dissent.

 

“And we shall invite Matsuda to chaperone at night,” Mother hastens to say. “Light and Mr. Lawliet are Courting, you see, Dr. Kuroki.”

 

“Ah, really? Is that so? Bit uncommon, that, as I understand the tradition…I would have expected a Match!”

 

“Well, there is that too,” says Mother. “Both, I suppose, you could say.”

 

“Both, you say? Curiouser and curiouser. But then, this new generation cannot be expected to follow the ones before it in perfect lockstep, can they?” Dr. Kuroki chuckles.

 

“Too true,” Mother says, laughing with him.

 

“I never busied myself with the business of marriage, of course,” the doctor continues. “Give me my practice over a husband any day! Or wife, that is.” He picks up his satchel and straightens his coat. “But blessings be to you both, Mr. Lawliet, Mr. Yagami,” he says cordially, inclining his head first at L and then at Light.  

 

“We thank you, Dr. Kuroki,” L replies.

 

“Yes…we appreciate that…” Light forces out. Speaking makes his throat light up with flames of pain. But he cannot abide the possibility of appearing less than gracious.

 

L pulls a small coin purse out of his pocket, pulling on its ruffled top to open it.

 

“Oh, my good boy, that isn’t necessary,” insists Dr. Kuroki, waving his hand in L’s direction. “It is payment enough to have seen Quillsh Wammy’s grandson again. Do give him my warm regards, won’t you?”

 

“Certainly,” says L with a smile.

 

“Thank you…he is a genius among men. I shall never be able to repay him.” Dr. Kuroki pauses a bit, looking at the floorboards. Then he inhales sharply, and addresses Light. “Well, then! Mr. Yagami, I wish you a speedy recovery. And good fortunes fall to you all. ‘Twas lovely to meet you.”

 

Mother and Father show him out, guiding him to the front door and giving him their thanks and returning his well wishes. Light hears Matsuda’s voice again when the door creaks open, asking anxiously after how Light is doing and whether or not he’ll be alright.

 

L takes his chair at Light’s bedside.

 

“What favor did…your grandfather…do for Dr. Kuroki?” asks Light, throat burning. Despite the pain of talking, he is abundantly curious, and supposes that the question is not too personal to be politely asked.

 

“Years ago, Grandfather and Dr. Kuroki were quite close friends. Grandfather invented several mechanisms for the doctor’s practice, and so Dr. Kuroki always made himself available when Grandfather had questions about the care and feeding of infants. Grandmother had passed on, you see, and Grandfather was having a devil of a time raising me,” L explains.

 

Light imagines L as a babe, and can’t help but picture him with his hair exactly as it is now: wild and longish.

 

“Light! Mr. Lawliet!” shouts Matsuda boisterously as he comes through the kitchen door. He is wearing a smile the size of the moon. “Did you hear? I’m going to be working overtime while Light’s sick!”

 

The smile does not diminish in the slightest.

 

“Isn’t it great?” asks Matsuda, looking from Light to L and back again. “I mean, it isn’t great that you’re sick, Light! Of course not. And you have to get better again soon, alright? But I’m just saying…it’s great that I can chaperone.”  

 

“It is, Mr. Matsuda,” L says. He takes Light’s hand in his. “I am glad.”

 

Matsuda nods happily at L. “Because it means you can stay, right? I say it’s good – nobody else is going to get sick, plus you two can spend more time together. Even at night! I’ll be there, of course, but really I don’t know if I can stay awake all night long! I’ve never done that before…but really, I guess it doesn’t matter much. You guys know I’m cool. You know what I mean? I mean…to me, you’re practically married already. It’s not like I’ll say anything if - ”

 

Just then, Father comes back in, wearing an expression that is decidedly _not_ a smile.

 

Matsuda rubs the back of his neck, laughing the most nervous laugh that Light has yet heard escape his mouth.

 

He looks around the room, obviously looking for someone to save him from his faux pas. When no one speaks up, Matsuda tries to save himself:

 

“Just kidding?” he asks.

 

* * *

 

It being thus decided that L would stay, Father spends a good portion of his time later that evening simply _watching_ he and Light, in a manner that makes his distrust of L abundantly clear.

 

Light had been tossing and turning in bed, the extremes of hot and cold having increased. Mother had heated some chicken broth on the hearth for him, but he could not stomach the idea of food or drink, and so it sat on the kitchen table, growing colder by the minute. As Light’s chores were now going unperformed, Mother was now bustling this way and that throughout the house, doing them in his stead.

 

She had brought a set of clean sheets into the kitchen (the only set they had to spare). They were folded neatly and stacked to L’s right. Or, rather, they _had been_ folded neatly and stacked. L was now standing next to Light’s bed and shaking them out.

 

“You don’t…you don’t need to do that,” Light protests. His voice remains as rough as sandpaper. The thought of L changing out his sheets (which are damp with his sweat) is vaguely mortifying. He has servants for this sort of thing. The only reason he would do it now is because Light’s family does not.

 

“It is no trouble,” L tells him. “Roll to your side now. I shall pull the old one out from underneath you.”

 

From his place at the kitchen table, Father watches he and Light with a hawk’s narrow, precise focus. He leans forward in his chair, elbows on his knees. His graying eyebrows are drawn together over his eyes. He seems ready to swoop in at the slightest provocation.

 

Light suffers the indignity of L _changing his sheets_ with as much as grace as he is capable of. He manages to do the thing with Light still in the bed, through a series of strategic rolling to one side and then another on Light’s part, at L’s direction.

 

Father remains at his place at the kitchen table, silent with obvious distrust. L bears the tension as a gentleman does, quietly and with no sign of animosity.

 

“Hi, everyone! I’m all set for a full night of chaperoning! Changed my clothes and brought my jacks set!” calls Matsuda’s voice from the front door. Light hears his footsteps echo through the sitting room, coming to the kitchen.

 

When he enters the room, Father stands up from his chair.

 

“I shall just be upstairs, son,” he says to Light. Light hears the unspoken message to L in his words: _I shall be close, and ready to act at a moment’s notice, should any dishonorable attempt be made on my son’s person._

“Goodnight…Father,” Light says.

“Goodnight, Master Yagami,” says L politely.

 

Father grunts in reply.

 

* * *

 

 

That night, in the smallest hours of the morning, during which the moon shines its brightest, Father appears in the kitchen doorway. His brows are drawn together and his mouth is set in suspicious lines.

 

L is reading (a novel, Light thinks, from the title) from his place in the chair. Light had been drifting back to sleep after a particularly vivid nightmare. His eyes snap open and he faces Father.

 

“Is something…the matter, Dad?” he asks, knowing full well that there is nothing amiss, per se. L has been a gentleman in all things.

 

“No, I…” Father begins, clearing his throat. “I just wanted to know if either of you needed anything.”

 

Light shakes his head, and L does the same. Light feels confident that this was not, in fact, Father’s true intention.

 

“Hmm,” Father says. “Well, if you both don’t…require something…I shall just…be upstairs.”

 

“Goodnight, Dad,” Light tells him, voice nothing but a whisper. It hurts something dreadful to speak.

 

“Goodnight, Master Yagami,” says L politely.

 

“…goodnight,” murmurs Father, as he turns toward the stairs.

 

* * *

 

The next day, Light’s condition worsens. His fever worsens, and he goes from feeling hot and cold by turns to feeling frozen at all times, right down to his bones. The shivering never seems to stop.

 

“Here you are, dear,” Mother says, handing L a stack of folded blankets.

 

“Thank you, Mistress Yagami,” he murmurs, before unfolding the blankets one by one and laying them in neat layers on top of Light.

 

Light curls in on himself in his bed. He feels like if he could just pull all of his limbs close enough to his chest, he could get warmer. The blankets help, but only fractionally, and he wishes that he could have a hearth of his own right next to his bed. He is burrowed down under the blankets, folded into a nest of his own making, and it is still not enough.

 

He feels L’s eyes on him as he trembles with the cold.

 

* * *

 

L never sleeps.

 

Whenever Light is startled awake in the middle of the night by wracking chills, or unbearable heat, or the pounding pain in his skull, L is awake already. He is either reading some book or other by the light of a single candle, or making notes on stacks of paper by the same. At times, Light has caught him simply staring into the darkness, lost inside his own head.

 

He seems to feel it the instant that Light wakes, because he always turns to him in the dim light, touching his forehead to feel how high the fever has risen, or to offer him food or drink.

 

The first few nights of the byoki, Father would come downstairs at random intervals. Oftentimes his heavy footsteps would rouse Light from his slumber, other times the words he spoke would do the job. Father would look around the kitchen until he found L and Light in exactly the positions they ought to have been in, Matsuda keeping watch at the kitchen table. Finding that all was as it should be, he would murmur something about making sure they were all well, before bidding the three of them another gruff goodnight.

 

These occurrences lessen over time, to the point that Father no longer wakes up in the night to check on them.

 

* * *

 

One night, the pain of the headache and the indignity of the shivers give way to a floating, hazy sort of feeling. Light feels outside of himself. It is as if he is watching his own life from some removed point, viewing it as a spectator views a theater show.

 

He recognizes their kitchen, and the smell of Mother’s chicken soup lingering from dinner. Matsuda sits at the table, clearly fighting sleep but failing from time to time. The world around him shakes sometimes. Sometimes it swirls. It looks to Light like a pinwheel at a fair, turning in a fierce wind.

 

L is with him still, wide awake and watching Light in the darkness. A strip of moonlight cuts across his face.

 

“You’re awake,” he says softly. “You slept right through dinner. Are you hungry?”

 

His voice is like a dream.

 

“No…no, not hungry,” Light answers. Interestingly, he speaks without thought to the words coming from his mouth. “Well…I ought to say, not for food.”

 

He sees L lean forward in his chair, black eyes widening.

 

“For what do you hunger?” he asks.

 

Suddenly, Light finds himself laughing. It irritates his throat, but he cannot stop.

 

“Light is not himself…he needs water,” L says sternly.

 

“No…no, L, I need - ”

 

“Drink this,” interrupts L. He produces a glass of water from nowhere and holds it out to Light’s face.

 

Light relents, sighing, and pushes himself up on one elbow. He takes the glass with his other hand and drinks it down.

 

When he is finished, L takes the glass from him.

 

“It didn’t work,” Light whispers conspiratorially.

 

“What didn’t work?” asks L. He looks at Light with open suspicion.

 

“The water, Suitor mine,” Light whispers, slow and patient. L can be so thick sometimes, can’t he?

 

“What were you expecting of it?” L asks.

 

“Nothing. You were the one who told me to drink it. Silly.” Light says. He laughs again.

 

“That is because you are ill, Light,” L tells him. “You need fluids. Your fever seems even higher than it was yesterday. Even now, you are shivering.”

 

Is he? Light did not realize. He raises up his blankets, looking down at himself.

 

So he is. L was right, after all. No matter.

 

He lets the blankets fall back as they please.

 

“That’s not what’s wrong with me, L,” whispers Light. How can L not know the real problem?

 

“That _is_ the real problem…you are delirious, and are not thinking clearly.”

 

Had Light really said that last part out loud?

 

“Yes,” L answers wryly. “And yes, you said that last bit out loud too.”

 

Light props himself up on his elbow again. He crooks a finger at L, moving it toward himself over and over, beckoning L forward.

 

L leans in close, turning his ear in Light’s direction. “Yes?” he asks.

 

Light is going to tell L a secret. He needs to be closer for that, so he scoots halfway out of bed. His mouth is right next to L’s ear. That’s better.

 

“I told Kiyomi Takada that you were handsome,” Light says. Oops, he forgot to whisper.

 

L straightens up, away from Light, which makes Light sad. He is smiling though, and that’s nice.

 

“Did you now? That was kind,” he says.

 

“You are, though,” Light insists. Distantly, he sees Matsuda nod off, chin against his chest. “You’re really…tall. And…sort of…strong looking? In the shoulders.”

 

“Am I?” asks L. “Fascinating.”

 

“A right pain it is, actually,” grumbles Light. “Sometimes I can’t stand what those shoulders of yours do to me. Or how your hips are just…rather…I don’t know…they seem right. For me.”

 

L chuckles. “I’ve a feeling that you will be very much angered with yourself, when you remember this in the morning. Although, perhaps you will not recall this night, when the sun rises. Either way, I am being given quite a gift here.”

 

“Hmm?” asks Light, uncomprehending. “You’re not making any sense, L.”

 

If anything, L chuckles more at this. “Am I not? I do apologize.”

 

“That’s alright,” Light tells him, easily. “You’re probably tired. You haven’t slept the entire time you’ve been here.”

 

“I’ve been rather preoccupied,” says L softly. “It was a great relief to hear Dr. Kuroki’s diagnosis. I had feared the worst.”

 

Light nods. “The poison.”

 

“Amazing that even in delirium, you can discern the thoughts I do not speak.”

 

“Well, it’s a valid concern, isn’t it?” Light asks. He yawns hugely, suddenly exhausted. “But you’re protecting me from whoever it is out there. I knew it wasn’t that.”

 

Light arranges himself back in bed, curling up under the blankets. The warmth inside the sheets is nice.

 

“Thank you, Light,” murmurs L.

 

“Hmm? For what?” asks Light sleepily.

 

L’s answer is plain and soft. “Your confidence in me.”

 

Light nods against his pillow in answer. He is fast asleep just after closing his eyes.

 

* * *

 

The sun shining through their small kitchen window is what awakens him, the next day. Several rays fall in crisp, bright yellow across Light’s face. When his eyes flutter open, he sees small motes of dust caught in their grasp, falling to the ground.

 

L is by his side. Light notices that he has changed clothes. The white poet’s shirt and blue breeches suit him well, showing off his ivory skin.

 

The man is awake even now…Does he truly _never_ sleep? That cannot be good for him. If only –

 

A horrifying thought pierces Light’s mind. A memory, really. Of the night before.

 

He covers his eyes with the back of one hand. “I am…oh gods…”

 

“Ah, you remember,” L says. He has the audacity to sound _cheerful._

 

“I am…truly sorry…for any offense I may have caused,” Light forces himself to say. “I was not…myself.”

 

In this moment, he can’t bring himself to look at L. He must have seemed like the _worst_ sort of wolf. Gods, what L must think of him now…

 

“Light, you mustn’t fret,” L says kindly. “You caused no offense. I knew that you were not in your right mind.”

 

Light is mortified nonetheless. “Thank you for your clemency,” he mutters. They are the traditional words spoken by an offending party upon receiving forgiveness for wrongs done.

 

“Really, Light,” insists L. Light hears his book snap closed. “I ought to thank you. I should think that most Suitors wait years to hear that sort of thing from their Matches.”

 

 _Cheeky rouge_ , thinks Light. His hand remains firmly over his eyes. He may never see the sun again, at this rate.

 

“And truly,” L continues, voice dropping to a barely-there murmur. “Your holding such opinions of my stature bode well for our Concealment.”

 

Light goes still. His cheeks flush, painful and hot.

 

Concealment is the period of time during which a newly-married couple are kept away from the rest of the world. After a wedding and the party that follows, a married couple is given leave to experience only each other’s company for several days. The privacy is meant for one purpose and one purpose only. The more scandalous pairs Light has heard tell of actually drew their Concealment out beyond one week. (Sayu had gasped and giggled when they heard tell of these, then promptly proclaimed that they would surely have a houseful of children in no time at all.)

 

His head spins with a dizziness that has nothing whatsoever to do with the byoki.

 

* * *

 

During his illness, Light has taken to napping frequently throughout the day. He is exhausted by the simplest of things, and requires long hours of sleep to make up for the smallest of exertions.

 

When waking from one such nap, he finds the evening sun blood red, shining through the kitchen window at an angle which indicates that it is near to the horizon.

 

Light moves to sit up, but when he does, he realizes that a warm, solid weight is lying atop his stomach.

 

It is L, dozing silently with his head pillowed on Light’s middle.

 

Mother is baking in the kitchen, preparing that evening’s dinner. When she spots Light awake, she smiles warmly at him, before holding one finger up to her lips and pointing in L’s direction.

 

 _Be quiet_ , her gesture says.

 

Light nods minutely, careful of waking him. He slides one hand gently into L’s hair. He loves the feel of the silky strands as they glide through his fingers.  

 

Father comes home from work shortly thereafter, giving no warning of his return. He wears his policehand’s uniform.

 

His eyes go straight to Light as he comes in. Light holds his breath, aware of the picture that he and L must be making in this moment.

 

Father nears his bed with a single-mindedness that he is known for in the community.

 

Light wonders if he ought to rouse L, so that he can meet whatever is to come head-on.

 

But to his surprise, no ill comes of it. Father simply watches them, expression unreadable.

 

“Make sure that he does not do himself ill, Light, while he’s watching over you,” he eventually says, barely loud enough for Light to hear.

 

Light nods, not trusting his voice enough to speak anything back.

 

Then Father takes one of the blankets stacked at the foot of Light’s bed, shakes it out, and drapes it across L’s shoulders.

 

After that, he turns and leaves the kitchen, going upstairs, and out of sight.

 

* * *

 

That evening, Light’s appetite returns, suddenly and with a vengeance.

 

Father and Mother and Sayu are seated at the table. Dinner tonight looks to be porridge and cornbread. It smells divine, the cornbread in particular: freshly baked and steaming hot and buttered all over the top.

 

“Perhaps you can eat a bit tonight, Light?” Father asks, looking over at him.

 

It is not without great effort, but Light manages to push the blankets off of himself, push himself up by one elbow, and sit up in bed.

 

Apart from trips to the outhouse and regular baths (cold, Light is sure, which makes him cringe, for L will not be used to a lack of hot water), L has never left his side. He is right there, piling pillows neatly behind Light’s back to support him.

 

And even though Light must look a fright, he has been unabashedly affectionate. Holding Light’s hand through the worst of his shivering…stroking his hair though it was damp with sweat…

 

“Actually, Father…I am a bit hungry,” Light admits.

 

“Oh, Light, that’s great!” Mother says, beaming at him.

 

“Light’s getting better!” Sayu chimes in, eyes warm with a smile.

 

“That’s wonderful, son,” Father tells him.

 

They have all been worrying for him, Light knows, and reminds himself of the blessing that possessing a good family is.

 

“And you, Mr. Lawliet…” continues Father.

 

L turns in his direction.

 

“You haven’t eaten a proper meal the entire time that Light has been ill. Or slept adequately, either. It cannot be healthy. Go on and have a plate as well, won’t you?” Father asks.

 

L spares a glance at Light, and their shared surprise at these words passes between them in a flash.

 

It is not that Father has ever denied L food, of course. He and Mother have been as polite as they come. Rather, it is surprising that Father has been keeping such a close eye on L’s health all this time, in addition to Light’s own.

 

“I do believe I may take you up on that offer, Master Yagami,” he says, turning back to Father.

 

“Very good,” nods Father. “Very good.”

 

And Father himself serves them.

 

* * *

 

After dinner (which Light ate in bed, the first and only time he has ever done such a thing), Sayu goes upstairs to do her homework for Schoolhouse and Mother goes outside to gather vegetables for meals the next day.

 

Light is lying down again, fatigued in the extreme simply by sitting up long enough to eat dinner.

 

His eyes are closed, but his ears are open. Father and L are the only other ones left in the kitchen, Matsuda having not yet arrived for tonight, and Light wants to know if Father’s apparent goodwill toward L will continue.

 

For a good deal of time there is no conversation between them. Light hears only the sounds of dishes being cleared away, and the occasional splash of water in a basin, as either L or Father does the washing.

 

Just as Light’s head begins feeling too cloudy for him to stay awake, he hears Father speak.

 

“You know, Mr. Lawliet…Sachiko is nearly done preparing things for the Match Celebration.”

 

L makes a small sound of polite interest. “Is that so? I am looking forward to it.”

 

“As are we all,” says Father. He laughs a bit to himself, and though it sounds a bit awkward, Light believes it is very much genuine. “Sachiko has been gathering ideas for Light’s Match Celebration ever since he was born.”

 

“I am quite obliged to you, that I shall be the Suitor sharing it with him,” L says. Light wonders how he finds the courage to say such things with no hint of discomfort. No embarrassment.

 

“Light has never wanted for Suitors…I never told him, but he was receiving Offers before he was yet sixteen, even. The indecency of it…of course none of those men were fit for him. I threw the letters out without reading them,” Father’s voice turns inward, and thoughtful. “No…he has never wanted for Suitors. But he has wanted for equals.”

 

Light hears nothing from L in reply.

 

“We kept him in Schoolhouse for as long as we could manage…it broke Sachiko’s heart to pull him out of it, with the sort of grades he was making. And he never seemed to need to study either. It just…came naturally to him. He has always been very bright. Too bright, sometimes, I think, to really fit in. He had friends, of course, but…Sachiko and I would often talk of how he never seemed truly happy with them. Sometimes I wonder if Light only spent time with them to appease us. He has always been a dutiful son.” Father pauses here, and sighs. “Mr. Lawliet, I feel that I owe you an apology. You have taken excellent care of him, these past few days, and without you, I think the entire family would have fallen ill, tending to him.”

 

“Master Yagami, it was nothing more than - ”

 

“No no…I have wronged you, and I am not the sort of man to abide that without setting it to rights. You have taken excellent care of him, and more than that, you have made him happy. He has in you, for perhaps the first time in his life, an equal. And I am indebted to you for that. I must apologize to you for my distrust, and discourtesy. A father does not easily set his son into the world for another to possess. You shall understand, I think, if you and Light ever take a child into your home. It is not easy to let them go.” Father’s tone brightens here, where it was melancholy before. “But having you in our home these past days has been reassuring. He will not be with us, but he will be alright.” 

 

It is a few moments before L replies. When he does, he speaks as if there is a tightness in his throat. “Thank you, Master Yagami.”

 

“Mmhmm,” murmurs Father, and Light hears the washing basin being set down near the hearth, where they keep it when it isn’t being used.

 

“And, if I may say so, Light will always be free to visit, whenever he wishes. I would not keep him from his family.”

 

Father makes another sound of assent. “Have you given any thought to the wedding, then?”

 

“Well…I was supposing that a winter wedding would be picturesque…Light is to come of age in winter, too, after all. The snow would certainly be striking…glittering at night, and so forth. Perhaps an evening affair.”

 

As L talks, Light hears dishes being stacked together and cupboards being open and shut.

 

“Light would like that,” Father says.

 

Light hears a knock at the door, and then Father excuses himself to answer it. It will be Matsuda, arriving for the night.

 

After the sound of Father’s footsteps leave the kitchen, Light senses L sitting down in his usual place next to Light’s bed.

 

There is only quiet. Light tries to regulate his breathing. He keeps himself very, very still.

 

And then, suddenly, this:

 

“I have watched over you for several days now, Mr. Lawliet-to-be,” L says.

 

Light’s eyes fly open.

 

L continues, “I know when you are sleeping and when you are not.” His eyes dance with mischief.

 

Light tosses his pillow at him.

 

* * *

 

The days pass peacefully. Once that first improvement sprang forth, others followed in slow but steady succession. Light grows stronger, and able to sit up for longer and longer hours. He and L spend much of their days reading. Light leans against the kitchen wall, sitting up in his bed, a book held open on his knees. L is curled in his chair next to him, turning page after page with far more speed than Light possesses. But Light is improving. He finds that he can read smoothly now, and it becomes rare for a word to be unfamiliar and trip him up.

 

Sometimes, Light looks up at L and finds that L’s eyes are on him. They share these moments with a mixture of surprise, pleasure, and embarrassment. The mixture crackles and flashes between the two of them like lightening. The intensity is striking, at least on Light’s part (he should not assume to know L’s experience of the world), and neither of them seem to want to be the first to look away.

 

“Something the matter, Light?” L asks cheekily, near the end of one of these exchanges.

 

“Nothing at all, L,” replies Light smoothly. He refuses to avert his gaze first.

 

“You seem somehow distracted,” L presses. “Is the novel no good?”

 

“Quite the contrary…it is very good indeed.”

 

“Then why do you pause?”

 

“I could ask that very thing of you, myself,” answers Light. Both of their books lie neglected on their laps.

 

“Your distraction…distracted me,” L says, voice soft and thoughtful as ever.

 

“And on my part,” says Light. “You yourself are the distraction.”

 

He smiles a bit, not quite believing his daring, before turning back to his reading.

 

When he glances up at L a few moments later, L is still looking at him. There is a faint tinge of pink dusting his cheeks and a contemplative sort of look in his eyes.

 

* * *

 

During the nights, they stay awake past sundown. Matsuda sits at the kitchen table (giving them as much privacy he can while still maintaining Father’s directives) writing letter after letter. Light knows that he is writing to Misa Amane, because periodically he will look up and ask them a question about whether or not something sounds too forward.

 

“It is not too forward, Mr. Matsuda,” L always answers, drily, and Light always laughs softly at it.

 

Once, L followed that up with “there is very little that is too forward for Misa,” under his breath.

 

“Oh good,” Matsuda had said, relief evident in his exhaled words. “I don’t want her to think I’m not a gentleman!”

 

They leave a few candles burning, what Mother and Father can spare without exhausting their supply, and the glow of them is soft and golden. Light has never been prone to staying up late into the night - there have always been chores that needed doing at sunrise. But now that Sayu and Mother have had to take those over (while his recovers), he finds himself eager to share the darkness with L. Light has seen him sleep only rarely during the entirety of his illness, and L has never seemed too tired for conversation.

 

They play a game of L’s devising: twenty questions. One of them thinks of an animal, person, or plant that the other must guess after asking no more than twenty yes or no questions. Light has won several times so far by thinking of obscure plants.

 

“Light ought to be prohibited from the plant category,” L huffs, after five losses in a row. His lower lip protrudes ever so slightly, and his thin eyebrows draw together.

 

“You are _pouting_ , sir,” Light teases delightedly.

 

“I most certainly am,” replies L, unashamed. “I am childish and hate to lose.”

 

“Well,” says Light. “I shan’t sacrifice the plant category without you sacrificing the person category.”

 

“ _Never_ ,” L tells him, the hard glint of competition in his eyes. “I have bested you in nine rounds so far with that alone.”

 

“I’m _aware_ , L,” Light says.

 

They continue for two more rounds, each scoring another win for the tally.

 

Then, L reclines in his chair, tucking one foot under his opposite thigh. Light rearranges his blankets about himself.

 

“Shall we play again?” he asks, after L does nothing but look back at him thoughtfully.

 

“Yes…” L murmurs. “But…I wonder what you might say to our changing the rules a bit?”

 

Light’s heart speeds up quickly at that. “How are we to change them?”

 

L tucks a bit of his hair back behind one of his ears. He smiles at Light, and Light fancies that he sees something predatory in his gaze. “Instead of using twenty questions to guess an animal, plant, or person…we could ask each other twenty questions that the other _must_ answer, and answer truthfully.”

 

Light feels his shoulders tense. He has no intention of lying to L, of course, but it feels somehow dangerous to promise him an unadulterated access to the truths of his life.

 

He tries for a bit of humor. “You have a death wish for that pathological desire for privacy of mine, don’t you?”

 

“Precisely,” L replies. “I want there to be no secrets between us.”

 

“It is…an appealing idea,” Light allows.

 

“Well, you are making no secret of your doubts concerning this idea…I suppose that ought to be taken as progress.” L says wryly. “Perhaps an addition to the new rules is in order. Perhaps the pair of us ought to be allowed two ‘passes.’ That is, either of us may decline to answer a question, but only twice. If we exhaust our two passes before the twenty questions have been asked, we will be forced to answer all the questions that remain. Is that agreeable to you?”

 

Light considers. He can work with those parameters. Matsuda is seated far enough away that he ought not to be able to hear what they say to each other, if they speak in low voices.

 

…and really, the opportunity to learn more about L is attractive in its own way.

 

He nods to L. “I accept your challenge.”

 

And so it begins.

 

* * *

 

 

L’s questions, it turns out, are bold and to the point. "Was it I that gave you your first kiss?"

 

"No,” Light answers, in the same manner. 

 

L’s jaw falls open and his eyebrows draw together.

 

Casually, Light continues. “A better question would have been whether or not you gave me my _best_ kiss. But unfortunately your turn is now past.”

 

While L watches Light calculatingly, Light considers what he ought to ask. The sorts of things he really wishes to know seem somehow very invasive things. But, perhaps, he is now entitled them?

 

Light gathers his courage around himself like a cloak. “When did you realize yourself drawn to me? As something other than a suitable Match, I mean?”

 

“Why,” L replies, as if the answer to this should be obvious. “The night we visited _Willows_.”

 

 _That quickly?_ thinks Light. He wants to ask for more information, but it is technically L’s turn again.

 

And L wastes no time in taking it.

 

“Did I, then?” he asks.

 

Light fights off his amused smirk. “Did you what?”

 

L’s eyes narrow. He is decidedly _not_ amused. He knows that Light already knows what he is asking. “Did I give you your best kiss?”

 

Light allows his smile to show forth, and it manifests devilishly on his lips. “Undoubtedly.”

 

L makes a satisfied sort of grunt. “Good,” he says.

 

Light decides to take his turn by voicing a question he has harbored for some time. “After the wedding…do you have plans to leave Silver Hills?”

 

“If you were amenable…yes.” L says, a bit uncertainly.

 

Light considers this. He had supposed that with L’s history of travelling, it was just short of inevitable, but hearing the words makes it more real somehow.

 

“If you were not…there is enough work in the surrounding areas, I should think, to be getting on with,” L offers.

 

Light nods.

 

“And I should think that if we did leave…we should return in time,” L continues.

 

Light nods again. A part of him feels some trepidation at the idea of leaving this area, as the only home he has ever known. It is a small part, though. The larger part, the part that Light wants to acknowledge and act upon, feels a thrill at the idea of seeing the world with L.

 

“I would be amenable to travel,” Light tells him.

 

L smiles at that, but it is short-lived, disappearing with his next question. “And who was it that stole your first kiss from me?”

 

“A classmate of mine…she cornered me during Fellowship one Sunday. I was fifteen. It was…repugnant,” Light explains with a shudder.

 

L huffs.

 

“Where would you like to move, after we wed?” asks Light, taking his next turn.

 

“I should think wherever the next case happens to occur…I tend to follow the work wherever it takes me,” says L.

 

Light mentally prepares himself for a good deal more spontaneity in his life than it currently contains.

 

L takes his next turn by asking, “And did Light allow this foul heathen of a female to progress beyond kissing?”  

 

“Of course not,” answers Light, more than a bit offended by the question.

 

L has the gall to challenge him, which only increases Light’s indignant feeling. “Your definition of ‘beyond kissing’ may differ from mine, however.”

 

“If you are implying that I was some sort of amoral wolf, or still am, you are very much mistaken,” Light tells him. “I am not yet married, and never have been, so of course I have never...I would not have...”

 

“But Light,” says L. “There is much that two people may do together that is not going so far as all of that, but still beyond the realm of necking.”

 

Light truly does not know what it is that L is referring to. He reasons that there must be certain practices of which he is unaware, which couples partake of together in secret. Besides asking L outright, he does not know any other manner of discovering what these practices might entail. And he certainly does not want to ask, and have his ignorance made known to L. So he nods, and remains silent.

 

And then, L says, “Of course, we needn't delve into such things if you are discomforted by them. Forgive me. It is your turn, now.”

 

Light’s interest and curiosity being thus piqued, he uses his turn to ask what he can in an oblique manner. “Are you...quite experienced, then? I could not condemn you if you were. You were not brought up as I was, nor in the same church, and...well...there are clearly things about which you know much more than I.”

 

“I would not say ‘quite experienced,’” L begins. “And in the interest of clarity, I ought to say that by that I mean that I have never known another in the way that marriage sanctions. However…there was one experience which I think is relevant to your question, even though it was not that. The full answer to your question lies in that experience…do you wish to hear it?”

 

Light nods.

  
  
“When I was seventeen, I was investigating a case of murder in the Desert Plains…it came to pass that I solved the case, and prevented the murder of the Plains’ people’s eldest princess. Her father offered me the traditional reward for warriors, though I was not employed in service of their military: the services of a pleasure-giver. …to have refused would have been a great offense to the nation, though I had no interest in a reward. Solving the case was the only reward I sought. But, to avoid creating a deep rift between myself a powerful nation, I accepted their gift.

 

The entire episode occurred publicly, which is their custom. And lest you form the wrong image in your mind, Light, of what the pleasure-giver’s services entailed, I remained clothed throughout. They offered a man and they offered woman, too, asking me to choose between them according to my tastes. I have found beauty in both, so it was of little consequence to me. But I chose the man out of the slightly greater symmetry his form possessed, when compared to the woman’s. The…service…as it were, involved him seating himself atop me and performing a dance.”

 

Though it is not his turn to ask another question, Light does so, and L allows it.

 

“Did he give you what you wanted?”

 

L looks at him wryly. “What my body wanted, do you mean?”

 

“Yes,” answers Light.

 

“He fulfilled his duties…adequately. The desired result was achieved, at any rate.”

 

“Somehow not exactly what you needed, though. Otherwise, you'd be there still, not here with me,” Light comments. “…Did he whisper to you as he danced?”

 

“No…” answers L, a kind of question in his tone. “I cannot say that he did.”

 

“Someone better suited to you would,” asserts Light. He leans back against the kitchen wall, blankets slipping down to pool around his hips. “I think you'd like to hear certain things spoken softly to you during something like that. I think you'd enjoy someone's warm breath on your neck as they worked.”

 

Light sees L’s Adam’s apple bob as he swallows. “I should find that quite…pleasant.”

 

Light nods. “You see? Perhaps given knowledge of your preferences, someone who knew you better - someone smarter - could have made the experience more enjoyable. Was he handsome, then?”

 

“Not as handsome as you,” L answers. “Not by half.”

 

“And did he kiss you, while he rendered his services?” asks Light.

 

“Kissing is forbidden except between married couples, in the Plains. So, no.” L answers. Light hopes he is correct in his assessment that L’s breathing is shallower, and his pupils larger than usual.

 

“I would think that someone correctly Matched to you would kiss you…or let you kiss them. As often as you liked, and in whatever manner you saw fit.”

 

At that, L leans forward in his chair, angling himself closer to Light. “Truly? And would that someone do everything in their power to slake my thirst?”

 

L’s eyes catch Light’s and hold them captive, as if by a spell.

 

“I should think of no reason why they wouldn’t,” Light answers. His voice sounds not his own.

 

“And would that someone make absolutely certain that I was completely satisfied?” asks L. His hands fall to the edge of Light’s threadbare mattress, elbows locked as he leans in closer still.

 

Light finds himself leaning forward too. He craves L’s lips with a sudden and smoldering hunger. “Absolutely. Down to the last…aching…second.”

 

And that is when the moment is broken by a small, girlish voice.

 

“Light?” Sayu calls drowsily. L and Light spring apart just in time to see her walk slowly into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. Her nightgown is slipping off of one shoulder and her hair is in complete disarray. “Mr. Lawliet? I’m sorry to wake you both…I just wanted some water.”

 

Light clears his throat. “It’s alright, Sayu. Go ahead.”

 

Sayu takes her water from the pitcher and cup left on the kitchen table. She bids them both goodnight after drinking it, and stumbles half-asleep back the way she came.

 

L and Light share an embarrassed sort of laughter at the near-miss of moments ago. From then on, the game turns to more innocuous topics: what their favorite foods are, what games they played during childhood, the places they would like to see together.

 

When the game is over, neither of them has used even one of their respective passes.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, Light is feeling almost entirely his usual self. He gets out of bed, dresses and bathes (properly, not with sponges and Father’s help), and sits at the table for breakfast. L remains by his side, though plans have been made for him to return to Silver Hills that evening. Mother and Father and Sayu are eating with them, along with Matsuda, who is staying over from his night of chaperoning. The table is laden with biscuits and porridge and fruits – a bit of a celebration of Light’s recovery.

 

“It’s so great to see you out of bed, Light!” says Sayu happily, biting into a pear.

 

“Absolutely, son,” Mother agrees warmly. “We were all of us so worried about you.”

 

Father nods. “All of us.”

 

“You gave us all quite a scare, you know!” Matsuda exclaims.

 

Light is glad to be well. He is glad to have his independence returned to him.

 

“Thank you all for everything,” Light says. Though his next words feel demonstrative in the extreme, he will think himself a villain if he does not speak them. “Especially you, L.”

 

“’Twas nothing more than you would have done, had our positions been reversed,” L tells him.

 

“Still…you have sacrificed much for my well-being,” Light insists.

 

“Ah, well…” L murmurs. “I don’t know about all of that. But I do know that surely when I am old and gray, you shall have ample opportunity to return the favor.”

 

“L, don’t be ridiculous,” Light mutters, feeling his gratitude morph into a scoffing, disbelieving thing. “You and I are barely removed in age.”

 

“ _Au contaire, mon amor_ ,” says L. The words are unfamiliar but Light can tell what they must mean based on L’s tone by itself. “You are but a young buck and I am sorely advanced from my youth, doomed to suffer the slings and arrows of an aged existence, until the candle of my life is quickly snuffed out.”

 

Light shoves at his shoulder, and L laughs and laughs.

 

Sayu giggles uproariously, as if her future brother-in-law is the comedian of the century. Matsuda joins in too, looking between them all as if he is not quite sure of the joke, only the humor in which he clearly ought to be sharing.

 

In the midst of their glee, there comes a knock at the door – three hard taps that sound insistent, and demanding.

 

“Who on earth would come calling at this hour?” wonders Mother aloud. She stands from the table, wrapping her robe around herself, and goes to the door while the rest of them continue with their food.

 

Light hears no voices after the door creaks open, save for Mother’s greetings and welcomes and a surprised ‘how do you do?’

 

She is telling whatever guest it is how lovely they are to visit Light after his illness, and how honored she is to have them in her home, when the footsteps approach. They fall unevenly, and very frequent. Are there two visitors there, instead of one?

 

When their guests appear in the kitchen, Light finds that yes, there are two, one only slightly less shocking than the other.

 

Miss Amane is there, dressed in an elegant pale blue gown – the type that covers much more skin than Light has grown accustomed to her wearing.

 

She curtsies at them all, demurely introducing herself. She makes no mention of recollecting Light or L or Matsuda’s names.

 

Light realizes then that she is undercover.

 

Matsuda gasps, and Light’s heart pounds, hoping against hope that Matsuda will not reveal knowing her.

 

Seconds pass, and he doesn’t say anything further. Light feels L’s rigidity at his side.

 

And the man on Miss Amane’s arm…he is tall, with long black hair, and square-ish spectacles on his nose. He wears a suit of pitch black, which is a far cry from the robes under which Light sees him operate every Sunday.

 

“What a surprise!” Father greets him cordially, standing and bowing to their visitor.

 

“What a surprise to see you, indeed,” L murmurs quietly. “Pastor Mikami.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I did not intend to end this chapter on a cliffhanger, but it was just…getting out of control. Truly. Out of control. My word count was scaring me. So the next one will pick up directly where this one left off. 
> 
> I do apologize for the delay with this chapter! Several life things contributed to that, including some extensive travelling. I’m excited to report that BC3 and I will be vacationing overseas soon, and that the trip will last two weeks. :) I plan to write while we are there, but I should tell you all that the next chapter may be somewhat delayed as well…I hope for it not to be, but I figure it is easier to handle a wait when you know why the wait is occurring. I would estimate a month or so, for the next installment.
> 
> BC3, you’ve been so motivating and inspiring and lovely and muah muah muah. ;)
> 
> SO MANY thanks to you all! Really, this fandom is so unbelievably kind. All the comments and reviews here and on my Tumblr account have been mind-boggling in their generous praise. I appreciate each one so much. :)
> 
> I’d love to know your thoughts on this chapter! What worked for you, whether something didn’t, and anything else you feel like sharing!
> 
> \- Magic


	14. Chapter Fourteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter, I’m increasing the rating of this fic. This is due to the inclusion of references to adult content, which will only become more explicit as the story continues.

Pastor Mikami inclines his head in L’s direction, expression solemn. Then he does the same to Father. Neither his mouth nor his eyes betray any sense of humor. He has always struck Light as the kind of person who takes life, and every moment within it, as serious as the grave.

 

“Good morning to you all,” the pastor says. He adjusts his spectacles on the bridge of his nose. His suit jacket is tailored to within an inch of its existence, as are his pants. His hair, too, seems to be combed and cut so that every strand is in place. “I must apologize for the interruption of your breakfast.”

 

“Not at all, sir,” Father tells him, gesturing to his own empty chair. “Please. You are always welcome at our table.”

 

“Of course, Pastor Mikami,” Mother says, all warmth and gracious appreciation. She stands to Father’s left.

 

The pastor raises one hand in silent protest of the offer. “That is generous of you, but I haven’t much time this morning. Miss Amane and I - ” here, he takes Miss Amane’s hand in his and holds it up, thumb over her fingers. He makes the gesture a strange sort of performance of their familiarity “- are due elsewhere, I’m afraid. I only wanted to pay a visit to our dear Light. The entire congregation has heard of his illness. Once we heard tell of his being on the mend, I could not in good conscience allow a visit to go unpaid.”

 

“Light’s definitely a lot better!” pipes up Sayu. “He looked like the next one on Ryuk’s list for a while there!”

 

The image is a particularly colorful one, as Ryuk is not only believed to be the god of death, but also the god of all human misfortune.

 

“But Mr. Lawliet took good care of him, and he’s all better again now,” she continues happily.

 

“Well…we are all grateful for the blessings of the gods, that you are here before us now, Light,” says Pastor Mikami. The eye contact he demands is so pointed as to be painful.

 

Light looks away and sees Matsuda, who is gaping at the place where the pastor’s hand is joined with Miss Amane’s. His eyes are huge and disbelieving. It is not difficult for Light to guess at his thoughts. 

 

“Thank you,” Light murmurs, turning back to the pastor. He says it because it is expected of him, and because he cannot avoid speaking without appearing ungrateful.

 

“And may we introduce my son’s chaperone, Touta Matsuda?” asks Father. He gestures toward Matsuda, who stammers and blushes as he offers a how-do-you-do.

 

“Ah, yes…” the pastor says, eyes sweeping over Matsuda. He seems interested enough to be polite, but only just. “I know your face. You are quite faithful in your Church attendance. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

 

“…thank you, Pastor,” Matsuda says quietly. He looks from him to Miss Amane and back again.

 

“And Miss Misa Amane,” Pastor Mikami introduces, turning to her with something like pride. “Dress model, and sole heiress to Richard and Samantha Amane.”

 

“How do you do, Miss?” asks Matsuda. He doesn’t meet Miss Amane’s eyes.

 

“Good morning, Master Matsuda,” Miss Amane says politely. Her eyes too, remain strangely downcast.

 

There is a none-too-comfortable silence then. Light looks to L, wondering if Miss Amane’s cover is to be blown here, at so crucial a juncture.

 

L’s eyes are fixed, though, on Pastor Mikami. He stares unblinking, like he is memorizing minute details of the man’s countenance and clothing and posture. Light realizes that he most likely _is_ doing just that.

 

L will be, at this stage, trying to determine whether or not the pastor was aware of the attempt with the wine. If he was not aware, the case becomes a matter of determining who _was_ aware, and why, and how they managed to slip something so deadly under Pastor Mikami’s nose without his suspicion. And if the pastor _was_ aware, was he merely an accomplice? Or is he devising murder plots alone? Is it Light alone who is his target, or is he attempting something greater? And how does Miss Kiyomi Takada fit into the puzzle? For Light is certain that it was not a coincidence that she possessed that foxglove. He knows it.

 

“You are feeling much improved, then, Light?” asks Pastor Mikami, turning to him. His eyes are black, like L’s. But where L’s eyes inspire in Light the feeling of glowing coals, Pastor Mikami’s only seem cold.

 

“Quite better, thank you,” Light answers.

 

“Wonderful. And, Mr. Lawliet, I trust you are well?”

 

“Never better,” says L plainly.

 

“I am glad. Now…regarding your request…”

 

All heads turn to Pastor Mikami at these words.

 

“Certainly there is no difficulty in a winter wedding. A pastor works when he is needed, for the good of his flock.” His expression remains flat and stern throughout.

 

Miss Amane gasps quietly, covering her mouth with one lace-gloved hand.

 

“You don’t mean to say, Teru, that Mr. Lawliet here is engaged to be married?” she asks, looking up at Pastor Mikami with wide eyes.

 

“I do indeed, poppet,” answers the pastor. He looks as though he wishes to smile but is thinking better of doing so. “Though he is not extremely well-known throughout town yet, of course. Your discretion would be appreciated. And besides…gossip is so ill-mannered.”

 

“Oh, of course,” Miss Amane nods. She blinks hugely, as though Pastor Mikami has just bestowed uncommonly novel advice. Then she graces him with a smile before turning to L. “But who are you Matched to, sir?”

 

L is a remarkable actor. If Light did not already know better, he would not question the idea that L and Miss Amane were only just now becoming acquainted.

 

“The man of the hour, it seems, Miss,” answers L, like a humble Suitor eager to bestow compliments on his Match. “Light Yagami himself.”

 

Miss Amane gasps. “Are you, indeed? Looking at you I never would have guessed. You have an eye for those on this side of town, do you?”

 

Matsuda coughs and averts his eyes. Father’s cheeks go red with contained ire. He cannot challenge subtle slight at their station, though Light knows he would wish to. Pastor Mikami is a holy man – in the eyes of the community – and it would be the height of rudeness to argue any point made by him, or by his companions.

 

However, L’s station affords him a bit more…freedom of speech.

 

“I should have an eye for Light whatever his geography, Miss Amane,” he says, with a bit of edge to his tone.

 

Miss Amane, to her credit, does not bat an eye at this, or break character in any way.

 

“Well, no one could fault your sense of aesthetics, sir,” she answers carelessly. “As for me, though…” she looks up at Pastor Mikami and steps minutely closer to him. “I prefer those of a certain pedigree.”

 

“Well…we must all of us Suit ourselves appropriately, mustn’t we?” asks L, rhetorically.

 

Miss Amane makes a sound of agreement, eyes never leaving the pastor’s face.

 

“Which brings us back to the wedding plans, Mr. Lawliet,” says Pastor Mikami. “I am happy to see you and one of our favored flock, Light Yagami, married. More than happy, I should say. As you are a convert to the church, though, it will be necessary for you and your Match to go through a bit of curriculum. Nothing too strenuous, I should think, but necessary all the same. You see, we the clergy need to be assured of the strength of your faith. Otherwise, we cannot - in good conscience - perform the ceremony.”

 

“I would expect nothing less,” says L agreeably. “I do hope to begin the lessons as quickly as possible. Nothing would make me happier, after all, than to have our union blessed by the gods.”

 

“Naturally. I am certain, though, that a man as important as yourself will find scheduling a bit trying?”

 

“I believe all men are professed to be equally important, in the eyes of the gods?” L inquires.

 

Light adores him. And the feeling only grows as L continues his exchange with the pastor.

 

“Ah, you have already begun to familiarize yourself with church teaching. I see. That can only be for the best. And you are quite right. I spoke out of turn. I only meant that it is difficult, sometimes, for those of high station to be truly devout. Nothing seems to turn the flock more from the gods than gold.”

 

“Whatever tributes may be made to the gods in my name, let me know quickly, so that I may relieve myself of that which may hinder my growth in the church,” says L smoothly.

 

Pastor Mikami remains as stone-faced as ever. “My congratulations on your generosity, sir.”

 

“And mine on your willingness to instruct a soul as spoilt as mine in the art of charity,” says L, equally impassive.

 

Light is certain that the pastor will be on L’s list of suspects. He has to be. Light can _feel_ the suspicion rolling off of L in waves, and he fears that Pastor Mikami is not stupid enough to discount the idea that someone may be surveilling him. Light fears that he will be motivated toward retaliation of some kind for the insult of it, even if he is not guilty of murder.

 

“Charity is one of the cardinal virtues, of course,” says the pastor. With that, he turns away from L. “Perhaps we can expect you back at church this Sunday, Light?”

 

Light feels L’s focus on the pastor like a singular thing, sharp and narrow. He sits ramrod straight in his chair, and his eyes bore into the man. Light wonders if L can smell impure intent on a person the way a hound smells blood.

 

He remembers L’s instruction. He must continue his life’s routine uninterrupted, despite the incident with the wine.

 

“I shall be there, Pastor,” says Light.

 

“Splendid. Well, then, I do believe Miss Amane and I shall be late if we do not take our leave. And punctuality is a virtue to be upheld like any other. Farewell, all.”

 

“Farewell,” Father murmurs shortly. He still seems unhappy with Miss Amane’s earlier comment.

 

“Let me show you and your companion out, Pastor Mikami,” offers Mother. She walks them to the front door, and Father follows in a grudging sort of manner.

 

“I’m leaving too!” Sayu says eagerly. She gathers up her books and rucksack and hurries after them. “Or I’ll be late for Schoolhouse again!”

 

“Goodbye, all,” Miss Amane calls over her shoulder, catching the pastor’s arm and following him to the door. “Fear not, Mr. Lawliet! Your news is safe with me!”

 

The moment that they leave, the door closing with a _snick_ behind them, Matsuda loses all control of his expression (what little he had, that is). His eyes are huge, skin pale white. He looks stricken, standing up from his chair and staring after the last spot that Miss Amane occupied.

 

“Matsuda…” Light begins, having some idea of he could be thinking. “I’m sure that Miss Amane isn’t - ”

 

“You saw her, though!” protests Matsuda. “And with a pastor! Of course she would prefer to be with Pastor Mikami. He’s a pastor! Of course he has more gold than I do…who doesn’t? And he’s been through Schoolhouse and even The School of the Gods…he’s smarter than I am and richer too. …I hope he takes good care of her. Miss Amane is a very special girl…woman! And she shouldn’t be Matched to just anyone. What if he doesn’t know the kind of flowers she likes or the how she wants to keep being a dress model even after she’s married? A pastor won’t want a wife who works, will he? He’ll just want her to stay at home and pray all day!”

 

“I would not fret, Mr. Matsuda,” L says, drawing his chair closer to Light’s. “Misa isn’t Matched to anyone at this time.”  

 

“Really?” Matsuda gasps, looking to L fast enough to give himself whiplash. “How do you know for sure, though? She’s awfully beautiful…how could Suitors out there not be putting in Offers for her? Pastor Mikami would be an idiot not to!”

 

“Ah, well…” L admits with a shrug. “Some have Offered, true enough. But she has not been Matched.”

 

“How do you know?” Matsuda asks. “She talks about it with you? Has she…talked about me?”

 

“That would be telling, Mr. Matsuda. And as Misa’s friend, I would be honor-bound to instruct you to ask her yourself, if you wish to know.” L makes a gesture in the direction of the coffee pot, which sits on the table to Light’s left. “Light, would you pass the coffee? I am in desperate need.”

 

Light takes the pot and fills L’s cup, remarking, “It’s too bad we haven’t any of Willow’s espresso. This is…well, the faster we think this through, the faster we…”

 

Light adds several spoonfuls of cream and sugar to L’s cup as well.

 

“Yes,” L says thoughtfully. He drinks the coffee down without even bothering to blow off the steam first. Light wonders how he can manage it. “Of course, to leap prematurely to a conclusion could be…disastrous. But I rather think…well…”

 

“It’s hard to avoid jumping right to it, isn’t it?” Light asks. “And if we are right…”

 

“Certainly that bit of study affords us a good opportunity to surveil…verify…”

 

“Yes. Especially since it would have to be him alone…but we must remember…”

 

L stares into the middle distance, clearly seeing the things that race across his mind. “Indeed.”

 

“What are you two _talking_ about?” Matsuda suddenly demands. “Mr. Lawliet, how do you know that Misa really isn’t Matched yet?”

 

Light knows that L is still mostly engaged with the turn the case has taken. He answers Matsuda in a prompt but removed sort of manner. “Since Misa was left orphaned before coming of age, without Grandparents or even any uncles upon whom she might rely…the execution of her suit came, in the end, to the adult male closest to her.”

 

“Ah,” murmurs Light. It all makes a kind of sense, when one considers that the customs of Golden Apple can’t be completely removed from those of Autumn Pass. The two towns are not so very far apart, after all.

 

“‘Ah’ what?” asks Matsuda, looking back and forth between them. “Light, tell me!”

 

Light isn’t certain that L really wants the information known, so he keeps quiet about it. In the end, L explains it himself.

 

“The execution of Misa’s suit lies with me, Mr. Matsuda.”

 

“ _You’re_ her Executor?” asks Matsuda incredulously.

 

Light feels that he ought to be surprised, but somehow, he is not. Who else would manage Miss Amane’s affairs? It made a strange sort of sense, particularly when coupled with the sort of clout L’s money and station give him.

 

He refills L’s empty coffee cup as L explains further.

 

“In the most technical sense of the word. Misa Amane is quite capable of looking after herself, I assure you. And she does. But a male head of household must consent to her marriage for it to be strictly legal and so…I have it on the best authority that she is not, in fact, Matched – either to Pastor Mikami or, indeed, to anyone else.”

 

Matsuda fairly _throws_ himself into the nearest chair. He clears his throat and rubs one thumbnail against the surface of the table in a distracted sort of fidgeting, staring at the tabletop. Then, he meets L’s eyes, looking quite resolute.

 

“Mr. Lawliet…I love Miss Amane. Nobody’s going to love her more than I do. I ask your permission to Court her,” he says.

 

Light looks to L, wondering if Matsuda’s request is really all that well-timed. L is certainly consumed with the case right now, after all. 

 

But L answers promptly enough.

 

“Unfortunately, all requests for Miss Amane’s hand must be submitted in writing, Mr. Matsuda,” he says.

 

Matsuda positively _wilts_. His shoulders roll forward and his elbows hit the table. His weight slumps onto them and he sighs sadly, “I knew I didn’t have a chance.”

 

“Not at all,” says L casually. Finding his coffee cup full once more, he picks it up and interrupts himself with an, “Ah, thank you, dear Light,” before continuing.

 

“I only meant that the writing is a necessary component of the request. We should want everything quite proper, should we not? And Misa does so love the frilly bits of a proper romance.” He takes a long sip of his coffee. “I shall await your letter, Mr. Matsuda.”

 

Matsuda beams.

 

* * *

 

There is an unmistakable air of excitement surrounding the Yagami household on the morning of July the 4th. Sayu is tying ribbons into her hair. Mother is smoothing her best dress - purple, with a silvery petticoat skirting the hem - into place. Father is wearing his coat and tie, and newly shined shoes.

 

Light has opted for the waistcoat and breeches given to him by L for their night at Cheval Blanc. He has forgone the jacket and cravat, though, thinking them too formal for this occasion.

 

_Suitor Mine…no doubt it would be uncouth in the extreme for me to deny you the chance to Court me with not one chaperone but two. Three, if you include Sayu. Reasoning that meeting with me in front of your Grandfather must surely have brought you a particular sort of discomfort, it would be only fair of me to take that particular sort of discomfort onto my own shoulders and invite you to a meeting in which my own family may bear witness._

_The annual Summer Soiree is to be held this Friday, July 4 th. Might we accompany you there?_

Light had found it strange, even disconcerting, to be the one to invite L to a meeting. After all, since their Courtship’s inception, L has always been the one to invite Light to various functions. But Light’s esteem for equality, combining with his respect for L as something more than a Suitor – as a partner – had been enough motivation for him to set quill to parchment.

 

L’s answer had been…well…both waggish and charming. Light still wasn’t quite sure how he had managed it.

 

_My, my, my…dear Light has found it in himself to ask me out on the town. You do care, don’t you? Is this what the young Cinderella felt when the prince asked her to dance? I am all a-flutter, truly. I shall have no choice but to accept such an enchanting offer from such a dashing young bachelor, lest he discover some other fair youth upon which to lavish his affections._

_Shall I arrive at your home that morning, then?_

 

Light had written back in the affirmative, and now the morning of the 4th had arrived.

 

During the interim, he has been consumed with thoughts of the extent of Pastor Mikami’s involvement in the attempt on his life (as well as the murders of the others). He has been more cautious than L, even, in their letters. Once or twice, L mentioned the case obliquely, hinting at upcoming investigation opportunities. He made it clear to Light that the thrill of the chase was upon him, and that nothing would make him happier than to see it well and truly solved before the date of their wedding. Light, for his part, said nothing of the case, fearing that the slightest slip, at this stage, could mean (at the very least) the undoing of all of L’s work thus far. At worst, such a slip might even cause the death toll itself to rise.

 

“They’re going to have Mistress Yamaguchi’s watermelon slushies! And blueberry tarts!” Sayu exclaims. She is waiting by the door, fairly bouncing on the balls of her feet, impatient to leave. “Light, wouldn’t it be amazing to hear the Terrific Triplets sing?”

 

Light nods absently, straightening his waistcoat. “Remember that we mustn’t spend too much, though, Sayu.”

 

“Does everyone have their things?” Mother asks, coming to stand next to Sayu at the door. “Mr. Lawliet is to arrive at any moment.”

 

“We shall have quite the time, I think,” Father says, nodding and peering out the window. “It looks to be splendid weather. Nothing but sunshine.”

 

“Sayu, do mind your parasol,” says Mother. “There is nothing like a sunburn to ruin an otherwise delightful day.”

 

Sayu runs to fetch it, and no sooner does she return than is Matsuda knocking at their door.

 

“Well then! It appears they are here. Shall we go, everyone?” Father asks briskly.

 

Sayu cheers, and Mother smiles warmly.

 

“I believe so, dear,” she says.

 

Father opens the door, Light takes a deep breath, and so it begins. 

 

* * *

 

“Your carriage is exquisite, Mr. Lawliet,” Mother says politely, when they are all seated. She and Sayu and Father occupy one bench, while L and Light the other.

 

“Thank you, Mistress Yagami,” L replies. He takes Light’s hand in his, brazen as you please. “And please, do call me L. I have imposed on your hospitality enough at this point, surely, to warrant some familiarity.”

  
  
“’Twas no imposition,” Mother assures him. She adds, with a bit of a hesitant smile, “…L.”

 

L beams.

 

“Woooowwww,” Sayu whispers, looking around and clearly in awe. “You even have _carpets_ in here.”

 

“An indulgence, I admit,” L tells her.

 

“I trust you’ve been keeping well then, L?” Father asks.

 

“Quite well, Master Yagami. And yourself?”

 

“I’ve no complaints…especially with this kind of weather. Perfect for the Summer Soiree. Do you remember that year we had nothing but storms, dear? Dreadful.”

 

Conversation continues in this vein. Light takes the opportunity to recline in his seat, holding L’s hand, and consciously reflect on the present.

 

There may be a murder plot afoot, but right here, right now, he is at peace.

 

* * *

 

There is a spectacular array of reds and blues - red pennants flying high on wooden posts, blue pinwheels on the ground around each of them, spinning in clusters of threes and fives. Everywhere Light looks, he sees color. There is almost too much to take in. Even as he focuses on the booth names, written on signs advertising each one's wares, he is distracted by the marching band or the children running about, throwing confetti behind them as they go.

 

But more than that, distracted by L.

 

They walk arm-in-arm, which is only _just_ on the correct side of being too demonstrative. Light is all too aware of Father and Mother and Sayu's proximity. (They follow along behind, sometimes talking to L or himself, sometimes to each other). He reminds himself constantly that there is nothing overly familiar in the gesture. He ought not to think of it that way. Courting couples walk this way regularly. But the place where his hand rests on L's elbow feels like a firebrand of intimacy, an announcement of activities that should by rights be left to the places enclosed by four walls and a solid door.

 

"Light," L whispers into his ear, leaning in close on his right side. "May I remind you that we are partaking of a Courtship, not a funeral march? Do try to look as if you are having fun.”

 

Light is met with the sight of his smiling face, eyes dancing with mischief.

 

"I'm aware of the nature of our activity," Light protests under his breath. "And I _am_ having fun. It is more that..."

 

"More that you find yourself affected by my closeness more than you'd wish, hmm? And it discomforts you to have that revealed in public?” L asks, jokingly.

 

...which is truthfully too close to the mark for Light's taste.

 

“You try having fun when your every move and word is monitored, L. I feel like I’m constantly being watched,” he says, which is also true – but easier to voice.

 

“Oh nonsense, Light…” says L, dismissively. He pulls a bit of spun sugar off of the stick in his hand and into his mouth. “We are all of us being watched, to some degree. It is human nature to stare at other humans and judge them. It shouldn’t make you nervous…you should be happy. Look at how much attention you and I garner together. A pair of celebrities, you might say.”

 

“Oh, dear,” Mother says, taking Father’s elbow. “Let’s do look at Farmer Sasaki’s set up, shall we? I have been meaning to get my hands on some of her butternut squash seeds.”

 

Father nods.

 

“Come along, Sayu,” he says, then calls ahead. “Light? L? Will you be joining us?”

 

Light finds it highly unlikely that L could be interested by the prospect of squash seeds. He himself barely finds them worthy of note. “I think we’ll go on ahead, Father…we’ll meet each other again in a bit?”

 

“Alright, son…perhaps we can all partake of a treat or two at the tables. I believe I can smell Mistress Yamaguchi’s shortcakes,” Father says.

 

“Shortcake?” asks L, perking up as a dog does when presented with the prospect of a bone.

 

“Indeed…she is well known for them,” Father replies.

 

“They’re _awesome_ ,” Sayu interjects.

 

“Light and I shall hunt down these shortcakes,” L says, very seriously. “You can be assured that they shall prove no match for us.”

 

Father, Mother, and Sayu all laugh good-naturedly at that. Then, they start off in the direction of Farmer Sasaki’s booth.

 

L and Light continue on in the opposite direction. As they walk along, Light finds himself the subject of attention he has never merited before.  

 

Mr. Maruyama, the sole proprietor of the Autumn Pass Bank, tips his hat at them as they pass. Madame Arakaki catches sight of them and offers a smile. She rearranges her mink stole about her shoulders as she walks along, saying “good day” very cordially. Even the Oonishi family, from the Father to the youngest boy, all incline their heads in small bows – once in L’s direction, and again in Light’s. Their suits and dresses are tailored boldly, highly fashionable, and advertising the name that made them Autumn Pass’s foremost clothiers.

 

“Ah, look,” L remarks cheerfully. “There is that shortcake your father mentioned.”

 

He makes a beeline for it. Light allows him to steer them both in the direction of the confectionary, feeling somehow very disoriented.

 

“Do you suppose your parents would like some, Light?” L asks. He surveys the strawberry toppings and sweet cream frosting with something like wonder.

 

“Father might,” Light answers, distracted. “Mother has never cared much for sweets.”

 

“And you?” asks L. “It goes without saying that I shall partake of one slice. Or three.”

 

“None for me,” Light tells him. He looks into the crowds strolling by. There are those of low birth and those of high birth, mingled into one mass of people. The Summer Soiree is one of the few occasions during the year that such mingling occurs. And even then, the crowds part now and then when one of the Gentry or Aristocracy passes.

 

When Light would attend the Soiree with his family in years past, he would feel the difference between his station and those of high birth all the more. Even though the event was supposed to bring the town together, Light viewed the necessity of such an event as yet another pointed reminder that those of low birth were different. Separate. If they were not, there would be no need for certain days _allowing_ them to mingle with the rest of society. _The generosity of those nobles_, Light would think to himself. _The charity. _

“It is peculiar, isn’t it,” murmurs L, catching notice of Light’s attention to the crowds. “That people seem to notice, suddenly, that which has been in front of their noses all along?”

 

“For whom did these customs arise?” Light wonders aloud, in answer. “Why must we…why must we _do_ this?”

 

He feels no need to clarify his thoughts, as he trusts L to have no need of it.

 

“I rather think it is universal. …Humans seem to enjoy separating each other into various classifications. If it is not wealth, then it is gender…if not gender, then color of skin…if not color of skin, then something else altogether. Humans will always find something.”

 

Light nods. He has not traveled as extensively as L has, or seen as many people or places, but he believes L is right.

 

L orders five strawberry shortcakes (one for Father, one for Sayu, and the rest for himself). Between the two of them, they manage to carry them all back to the tables, where Mother and Father and Sayu are waiting.

 

“We have watermelon slushies for everyone!” Sayu tells them as they take their seats. She passes one glass to L and one to Light.

 

They eat and drink and conversation flows between all parties. Light finds that L can be relied upon to speak for them both, if Light finds himself quieter than usual. And he realizes that, in a strange way, L _fits_ into their family. He wonders how much of this stems from the fact that L’s own parents were lost to him at so young an age, and how much can be attributed to natural compatibility of personality and temperament. Whatever the reason, Light enjoys the comradery shared by them all, and hopes that L does too. 

 

Afterward, the five of them wander about again. The Soiree is huge and sprawls across no less than three fields. There is no shortage of entertainment, from various singers and musicians in small groups, to travelling gymnasts and animal trainers. And interspersed throughout these are a multitude of merchant booths.

 

“Oh! Oh, Mother, look!” Sayu cries, pointing at a dressmaker’s booth. “Isn’t that lavender one simply lovely?”

 

“It is, indeed, Sayu dear,” Mother agrees. “But you do have perfectly serviceable dresses at home, you know.”

 

“Yes, but, none so lovely as _that_ one,” Sayu sighs.

 

“Come along,” Mother urges her. “One day, perhaps, we shall have the circumstance for such a dress as that one, but not today, I’m afraid.”

 

“Oh, but Mr. Lawliet could afford it, certainly?” Sayu asks, turning to him. “Couldn’t you, L?”

 

Light cringes inwardly.

 

“Sayu!” Father says sharply. “Hush. That is impolite.”

 

“It’s no trouble, Master Yagami,” says L smoothly, leading them to the booth.

 

“We shall require that lavender frock there,” he says to the keeper of the booth.

 

“That one’ll be five silver, sir,” says the dressmaker. She takes the dress from its rod and the money changes hands.

 

“Ohhhh, L, _thank you_ ,” Sayu coos, taking the dress and marveling at it. “Thank you ever so much!”

 

“You are quite welcome, Sayu,” L tells her. He resumes his place at Light’s right, and links their arms together again.

 

“Thank you,” Light murmurs quietly to him, as they continue on.

 

They come upon a booth filled with balloons, whistles…even tiny stuffed dolls, sewn with tiny yellow dresses. There are also shiny paper streamers of all colors, tied to thin rods and blowing gently in the breeze.

 

“L! L, do you think I could have some of those streamers? They’re so pretty!” Sayu asks, staring at the booth with eyes the size of apples.

 

“ _Sayu_ ,” Light hisses, mortified beyond belief. “ _No, he can’t. Stop it!_ ”

 

“It really is no trouble, Light,” L says easily, chuckling a bit as he lays two copper coins on the booth’s counter.

 

“ _Thanks_ , L!” says Sayu. She is all impressed gratitude, taking the streamers from the merchant with a massive smile.

 

“Gods…you don’t have to do that,” Light tells him, watching Sayu skip merrily ahead of them, streamers billowing out behind her. “Really.”

 

“She is uncommonly forthright,” says L offhandedly. “I can appreciate that in a sister-in-law.”

 

“I’m really sorry. It’s just that she’s…well…she’s never been able to get little things that have struck her fancy and so she’s…going overboard. But that doesn’t mean she’s excused.”

 

“Light, honestly, do cease your fretting,” L says, waving his free hand as if to brush away Light’s words. “Ah, what have we here?”

 

He steers the both of them in the direction of a booth whose tables are covered in various jewels and trinkets. Mother and Father follow Sayu to the booth of a rabbit breeder down the way. As they approach, Light sees bracelets and necklaces, rings and brooches. One table holds several sets of fine cufflinks, which seem to catch L’s eye.

 

As he looks among them, he resumes their conversation casually. “If it eases your mind, think of it as an investment. For those times that I anger you enough to receive nothing but your silence, I shall have a consultant ready and willing to help me get back into your good graces. Hmm?”

 

“Do you expect to anger me to such lengths on a regular basis?” asks Light wryly.

 

L holds out a hand, and Light offers his own automatically. Taking the cuff of his white shirt in one hand and a set of particularly striking ruby cufflinks in the other, L begins setting them in place.

 

“Enough to keep things…stirring,” L muses, with a smile. He takes a step back and surveys his handiwork. “There now. What do you think?”

 

Light looks down and sees his wrists adorned with the sparkling jewels. “They’re beautiful, L. But they are too much. And you’ve already been losing your coin left and right on Sayu all day, besides.”

 

L pays for the cufflinks without another word. The keeper of the booth beams at the sale, thanking them both profusely.

 

“L, I…I can’t accept these,” Light protests.

 

“Surely you can, Light,” L argues. “They suit you too well to be left there. And it is as much for the pleasure of my eye as for your enjoyment.”

 

Light smiles ruefully at that. “Well…I thank you. Truly.”

 

“Come with me,” L says, after a beat. He takes Light by the hand, leading them both away from the crowds.

 

“ _L_ ,” Light hisses, looking behind them. “Where are we going? My parents will - ”

 

“They shall be occupied enough with the festivities for a few moments, I assure you,” L says, continuing on single-mindedly. “You and I shall partake of some well-earned privacy.” 

 

There is a huge barn ahead of them, used to store flags and tables and other such remains of the Soiree when it is not in season. Light sees no one loitering around it, and no one else approaching besides himself and L.  

 

“…privacy, you say?” Light asks. “And the Courtship regulations?”

 

L pauses in his determined walk, turning around and giving Light a flat look, clearly possessing no patience for this comment.

 

Light laughs. “Alright, alright, Suitor mine. Lead the way.”

 

When they reach the barn, they slip behind it, hidden in its wide shadow. The paint of the barn’s sides is a bright, pure white, which contrasts strongly with Light’s much darker intentions.

 

Light stands close to the wall, careful not to the lean against it. After peeking around the opposite corner and ensuring that no prying eyes are present, L approaches him, footsteps silent and sure.

 

“How shall we spend this hard-won privacy, then?” Light asks, watching L and hating himself for the breathy quality of his voice. “A game of cards, perhaps?”

 

L pays no mind to any traditional notion of personal space, and crowds Light in against the barn wall.

 

“Decidedly not. Tell me, Light,” he says in a low voice. “Are you quite certain you’ve recovered from the byoki?”

 

Light cannot help but grin a bit at L’s proximity. He gives a quiet, private reply. “Quite certain, yes. In fact…I rather feel like a new man.”

 

“Do you now?” asks L. He leans in closer still, cool breath fanning out across Light’s cheek. “I daresay you don’t _look_ like a new man.”

 

“Do I not?” Light questions. He has some idea of where this is going, and welcomes it more eagerly than he ought.

 

“No,” L assures him. His voice, though hushed and low, rumbles in his chest. He searches out Light’s face, looks from his eyes to his mouth and back again. “You look as tempting as ever. As tempting as the moment I first saw you.”

 

Light’s breath catches in his throat.

 

“You’ve not changed one bit,” L continues.

 

“I admit to…some temptation of my own…” whispers Light.

 

“There is no one watching, Mr. Lawliet-to-be,” L says, half playful and half daring. “And you don’t seem the type to squander opportunity.”

 

Light finds himself grinning again. He feels wicked, but in the best possible way. 

 

“Right again,” he murmurs to L, leaning forward to whisper into his ear. “You may be the best detective in the world.”

 

“I’ve never yet been wrong,” says L shamelessly, the cheeky rouge.

 

Light looks left, then right, checking once more that no one can see them. Finding the coast clear, he takes L’s cheek in hand and tilts his jaw just so.

 

Light leans forward. Of this, he is certain. He is uncertain, however, if L does too, or if he simply waits for Light to make his move. Nonetheless, their lips meet.

 

L’s thin lips are soft under his, smooth and even. They are not like his own, chapped and somewhat roughened under the sun’s cruel rays, from his daily work out of doors. But the contrasting textures create something beautiful between them. Something mysterious, and potent, like smoked whiskey.

 

Light pulls back, but L follows him. He captures his mouth again, trapping Light between himself and the barn wall. Light is held in, surrounded, and invaded, and it sends shivers down his spine, which melt like candle wax into the core of him. L’s tongue is rolling forward and back against his. He settles one hand against the small of Light’s back and pulls him closer. They are pressed against each other from sternum to thigh. Light’s mind knows no peace.

 

It is easy for them to find each other’s rhythm. Easy to know what the other will do next, and, together, their mouths sing in the silence.  

 

* * *

 

When the carriage arrives in front of the Yagami household that evening, everyone has aching feet and tired, pleased, expressions.

 

“Master Yagami, Mistress Yagami, Sayu,” L says. “It has been a truly splendid day.”

 

“You are always welcome out with us, L,” Mother tells him warmly.

 

“Indeed,” agrees Father.

 

“Thank you again for the presents, L,” Sayu says, smiling with an uncharacteristic shyness.

 

“Of course,” L answers her. “And, Light,” he continues. “Before you go, I wanted to give you this…”

 

He pulls a book from underneath the bench they share. It looks heavy, and well-read.

 

“Unless you have tired of novels, that is,” L adds.

 

“Never,” Light assures him. It feels like he is answering a larger question than the one asked.

 

L smiles and hands the book to him, which Light takes carefully.

 

“Thank you,” he says.

 

Mother, Father, and Sayu climb out of the carriage. Light hears them talking quietly with Matsuda outside. He dares not give L a kiss with his family so close, even one on the cheek, though he wishes to most sincerely.

 

“I shall write to you,” L tells him, taking his free hand and looking down at it. “Will you write to me?”

 

Light nods. “I shall.”

 

“Good…” murmurs L. He glances out the carriage window, then places a soft kiss on the back of Light’s hand.

 

“Would you think me sinful,” asks Light. “If I voiced the notion that…sometimes…I wish us untethered to the regulations of Courting?”

 

L smiles knowingly. “I could not judge harshly in someone else that which I find inside myself, Light,” he answers.

 

Light nods, pleased with this response.

 

“I must go…” he sighs. “They will be waiting for me. Until we meet again, then….”

 

“Goodnight, dear Light,” L says, letting go of his hand.

 

“Goodnight, L,” Light replies. “Goodnight.”

 

* * *

 

It is dark, and Light is the only one in the house still awake. He has a single candle, half melted down already, lit at his side. The dish in which it stands was once covered with a blue-green patina. Light spent a good deal of time cleaning it carefully with vinegar and salt, months ago during a quiet afternoon, and now the brass shines brightly.

 

He has L’s latest bequest in his lap. The gold leaf title glitters in the dim light.

 

The book's leather cover is a rich, deep crimson. In Light, the color calls to mind the scent of something heady, something not to be indulged in carelessly, because of the resemblance it bears to the color of wine. There is a thin, gold ribbon sewn carefully into the binding. One could easily reason that it has been used to mark one's place in the story. Whether by chance or otherwise, the ribbon is tucked snugly into the middle of the book.

 

Without knowing exactly how, Light knows it was something more than chance.

 

He opens the book to the marked place. There he finds his confirmation: a bit of parchment, folded into quarters with edges crisp as a straight razor. His full name is written on the outside, in L's graceful cursive. But the 'Yagami' is run through with a heavy, dark line of ink. Above it, L has had the cheek to write 'Lawliet.'

 

Telling himself he ought not to smile, much less chuckle, Light pulls the note out of the book's worn pages. He reclines in his bed, blankets folded and stacked at the foot of it (it is far too hot for them, even with the sun's rays long since drowned by the horizon). One loose sheet is draped over him, so thin and threadbare that it is nearly translucent in the moonlight. His head is cushioned by the same pillow that Light has had since the age of ten.

 

Opening the folds of parchment feels somehow illicit, despite the letter-writing that he and L have taken part in regularly these past few months. This is different - not only because it is covert, but because it is _deliberately_ covert. L has taken pains to hide this note for Light's eyes only. No delivery from Matsuda's hands. No exposure to teasing from Sayu (as their regular correspondence has been lately subjected to).

 

No...this note is for Light, and Light alone, in every way. Light feels fortunate to have come upon it in darkness.

 

By the light of his candle's yellow-orange flame, Light reads L's secret words to him.

 

_Dear Light,_

_Forgive me if this note gives any offence…feel free to express your anger, your disgust, or your disappointment with me if I have misread anything. However, I cannot allow the opportunity to aid you (in any way at all) pass me by when I become aware of it. I realize that given your upbringing and the society into which you were born, such matters are not given much voice – and you therefore may have many questions concerning what you and I may do in seclusion together. I considered that I have in my possession several texts detailing various practices in this area…and that they may be offered to you, should you choose to peruse them. All of them are written in tongues I do not believe you speak, but I daresay the illustrations would be illuminating enough in their own right. If you find yourself interested, respond to this note in one of the other books…clearly such an undertaking as this one goes against the letter of the courtship regulation but I believe it does not violate the spirit of them: namely, that we ought to become closer to one another, building the foundation for a marriage._

_Yours,_

_L_

 

With stunned silence, Light goes over the note again, ordering himself to slow down in his reading and finding it difficult to comply. L's words are too momentous for him. Too honey-thick with sinful promise.

 

_What you and I may do in seclusion together…_

This note is, without doubt, the most explicit speech that Light has ever heard or read.

 

How is he to reply? How is he to convey a response? His instinctive response is an overwhelming _yes_. Without thought or consideration, Light wants to tell L that he is fully in favor of this plan. The idea of it all is so seductive, so forbidden, as to produce a tight coil of heat in the bottom of his stomach.

 

Distantly, with scarcely any seriousness at all, Light contemplates refusing L's overture. He imagines the words he might say.

 

_Dear Sir,_

_With all due respect - and by your offer, I deem it more respect than you deserve - I cannot accept the possibility of such goings-on between us. Lowborn though I may be, I am yet a gentleman, and no gentleman would acquiesce to such lurid imaginings as these. Your books might educate me, and no doubt do a fine job of it, but such enlightenment is neither moral nor proper without the band of marriage surrounding my finger - and yours._

 

No...no. Light finds himself wholly convinced by L's reasoning. Though the ideas presented in the note might impinge on the letter of the Courtship rules, they do not impinge on the spirit of them.

 

And oh, but doesn't L see _exactly_ what a gift such a thing would be to Light? Isn't he so very clever? For Light _is_ ignorant and he _is_ made anxious by that fact. What a treasure 'twould be for him to have those burdens cast aside, and meet L as an equal on the day (the night) of their marriage. 

 

_Dear L,_

_For far too long I have heard talk of what is 'good' for me or 'evil' for me or 'proper' for me or 'improper' for me...in you, for the first time, I hear what is 'best' for me, regardless of any conflict it may have with convention. And therein lies the beauty of your mind. I do not think it boastful to say that you and I are not conventional, and have no place in convention, beyond those conventions that are applicable to all humankind. Further, I agree with your assertion that this is in observance of the spirit of the Courtship regulations, if not the very letter of them. And surely it is the spirit of law which we should pay greater heed to? Where some may deem such a correspondence between us 'wicked,' or call my possession of those worldly texts 'indecorous,' I think both of these things only to the benefit of us both. Are you not, as my husband, entitled to an attentive, satisfactory lover? And am I not, as yours, entitled to instruction in becoming just such a person? As the marriage rite proclaims, 'The Sight of the one is adored, and the Touch of the other is beloved.'_

_So my answer is yes, Suitor Mine. It can only be right._

_Even the Pastor himself should declare it so._

_Yours,_

_Light_

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of this was written in front of the Prince Albert Memorial in Hyde Park. To be quite honest, I will be pleased if I convey the love between L and Light with half as much finesse as Queen Victoria expressed her love of Prince Albert. The magnitude of her grief at his passing…the fidelity she bestowed on him…the happiness she wrote of just being at home with him…all of this struck me during our trip to London. I ship the love between L and Light with as much sincerity as her love for Albert – my only doubt is whether or not I can portray it as clearly! 
> 
> Some trivia: the practice of one’s entire family accompanying one on a date is not fictional. This was actually a common practice in parts of the American South roughly fifty years ago. My aunt has many tales of being accompanied by her numerous brothers and sisters, as well as my grandparents, when she “stepped out” with a boy. Needless to say, these stories have influenced this fic!
> 
> For anyone interested in literary criticism, I started seeing a strange sort of parallel to a theory put forward in Eve Sedgwick’s Between Men, which postulates that male bonds can be discerned through love triangles. Simply put, if two men are rivals for a female love interest, there will be a discernable bond between those males that is at least (if not more) as compelling as the bond each male has with the female. Well…in the canon, L and Light and Misa can be said to have a triangle. I would deem this triangle as L and Light are the romantic couple and Misa is L’s (unsuccessful) rival for Light’s love, but those less inclined to slash might see things differently. But in this fic, it’s almost as though BC3 and I have taken Sedgwick’s theory and made it explicit – because now, “rivals” L and Misa have bonded (platonically, not romantically, but bonded all the same). 
> 
> As always, thank you so much to every single reader out there – especially those who have reviewed and commented. Every writer will tell you that each one means so much. 
> 
> And many thanks to you, BC3, for your never-ending encouragement and inspiration. I couldn’t have written this chapter, or come so far in this fic, without you. 
> 
> I don’t have a firm timeline for the next chapter at this point…I think it ought to take me about one month. If anyone wants updates on when future chapters will be posted, the best place to get them is on my tumblr: mgcmind.tumblr.com
> 
> See you all next chapter! 
> 
> \- Magic


	15. Chapter Fifteen

_Dear Light,_

_You possess a streak of rebellion not unlike the Aristocrats of old, who had the independence of mind to protest the unjust rulings of their kings. I do subscribe to the belief that turnabout is fair play, and that our current Aristocracy deserves a bit of protest themselves…but I did not pen this letter to speak to you of Politics._

_I set my quill to paper chiefly in order to confess my delight at the prospect that you and I shall begin to exchange things that are both Secret and Close. I did disclose in my last letter the worry that I may have overstepped my bounds with my offer – and I meant the words wholeheartedly, for you are indeed a sight to behold when you perceive your moral code broken. (I mean this with all compliment to your person. I could not abide sharing my bed with someone whose decency was in question.) Now that I have your assurances that you view such an undertaking as being quite within that which is Good and True, I may elaborate:_

_You see, I also write to you with the desire to introduce this first book. I have placed it carefully between a few novels in the hope that Mr. Matsuda (and your family) will see fit to simply dismiss it, ignoring it as yet another of the texts you read to further your education. If – by some cruel twist of fate – someone sees fit to open the cover and view the pages, I trust that some of what lies within may be explained away as some sort of medical text._

_If someone happens to do more than a cursory glance, however, our jig may be up. It goes without saying, then, that the book should remain in a place of only your own knowledge, and should only be perused when you are at your Private Leisure._

_Do let me know what you think of it, Light._

_Yours,_

_L_

_P.S. – I find the page depicting the two flaxen-haired youths in silks to be of particular interest._

* * *

_Dear L,_

_Any streaks of rebellion I possess have surely been fostered by the cousins they have found inside yourself. For what other Suitor would have the daring to suggest something as illicit as this?_

_Rest assured that I have arranged for the book’s safekeeping. If pressed, I believe a detective of your caliber could locate it, but I doubt that others could. And if Matsuda or Mother or Father or Sayu have taken a look at it, they’ve been remarkably (and uncharacteristically) silent about doing so._

_I must say that I agree that the picture you mentioned is entirely worthy of interest…I confess I didn’t know that bodies could bend in quite that way. And it seemed that they enjoyed themselves immensely in the undertaking. To your knowledge, are the illustrations drawn from life? They seem too detailed to be taken purely from the mind of an artist. I find it difficult to accept, though, that a couple might allow themselves to be observed during so intimate moment as that one._

_Is their activity something that you would be interested in attempting?_

_I wonder at your purchase of books like these. If I may pose the question to you without offense, were you merely curious? Or are books like these common indulgences for men who have the means to afford them?_

_Are the illustrations (and foreign text, which I assume you can read) things that present you with a certain kind of…solitary enjoyment?_

_If I ask too much of you, do ignore my inquiries. If not…be assured that I find the matter deeply interesting, and not for reasons so wholesome as educational enrichment._

_Yours,_

_Light_

* * *

_Dear Light,_

_It was necessary for me to give myself ample time for recovery before replying to your last letter. I daresay that if I had not, you would have been presented with a reply that was worthy neither of your mind nor your commitment to good moral standing._

_Having taken such time, I may address your questions fully. Never fear that an inquiry from you should go unanswered from me. As we have discussed, the greatest aim of this undertaking is that we might form a closer bond. I shall reply to any question you pose to me._

_I do not believe the illustrations to be drawn from life, no. Though it is difficult to believe that the world possesses artists so skilled as this one, capable of drawing from imagination that which is so detailed and realistic, it is true. The far country from which I purchased the book, Icthya, forbids any recording of carnal pleasure. (The term “recording” is key here. “Expressions” or “depictions” of carnal pleasure are not prohibited, or, indeed, even frowned upon.) And since I purchased the book openly in a market, with no hint of fear or reticence from the seller, I feel that I can safely conclude that the object was possessed legally._

_As to whether or not the lovers’ activity is something I would be interested in attempting, you may know that the answer to that is a resounding yes. You may also know that my imagination is not so unimpressive that your question did not spur in me a multitude of images, many of which hindered me from rational thought for a signification portion of time._

_As to why I purchased such a book…curiosity played a good part in the motivation, yes. Another fraction of motivation was my own hedonistic attention to my capricious moods, which are not to be underestimated and which I have mentioned to you previously. (I know not whether other men of means possess such books as these. Grandfather has certainly never mentioned having any, praise be to the gods.)_

_Light, you minx, I have said it before and I shall say it again: you are quite dangerous. Inquiring after your Suitor’s ‘solitary enjoyments.’ One can almost hear the forced nonchalance in your words, the manner in which you would look at me from underneath your long eyelashes as you posed your question. You, looking altogether too promising. Altogether too tempting. And making our marriage vows seem much, much too far away._

_To answer your question, yes. The book does bring me a certain kind of solitary enjoyment. But not nearly as much enjoyment as that which you will one day present me._

_Oh, and Light? I do hope that you find this letter as interesting as you expected to – and not, as you said, for any wholesome reasons._

_Yours,_

_L_

* * *

_Dear L,_

_I fear that even after giving myself ample time to recover, I have not the composure to answer your letter with anything a mind like yours deserves. I have nothing more suitable than these meager lines:_

_The heart I have confessed to you - the heart which beats for you, and you alone - beats now with a fierce ache and urgency. And the body to which it gives life longs to be claimed._

_Prohibited as we are now from nothing more than words, I should love to be witness to as much of you as I can be. I should love to be witness to your mind’s creativity, and see those things you crave in private._

_Yours,_

_Light_

* * *

 

_Dear Light,_

_What do I dare to voice, and what should I keep close? Do I dare to tell you of the hours I have poured into selecting this text, and all the dark imaginings that it inspired in me? For since I have laid eyes on you, I look at such illustrations not with the objective eye that I should, but with an eye for myself, and myself alone. An eye for myself with you. I look at these drawings and instantly, without my consent, my mind replaces the nameless figures therein with you and I._

_So swiftly do I succumb, dear Light. So swiftly._

_I am recalled to that afternoon, months ago, on your family’s lands, wherein I caught my first small hint of your unclothed form – it was brief, only barely seen through your translucent shirt. And yet, even that alone was enough to bewitch me. I am now as I was then._

_You call to me, Light, do you know? If you should be allowed witness to those dark imaginings that consume me late at night, you should think me a wolf indeed. For I would make you my prey, and endeavor at every turn to leave you starving for one more taste of your own undoing._

_Yours,_

_L_

 

* * *

 

_Dear L,_

_Am I expected to write coherently, after receiving a letter like that? Were you simply writing as you felt, or were you endeavoring to leave me with a mind of mush?_

_Whether by your intent or otherwise, I cannot in this moment consider myself an intellectual in any way. You have made me a being of skin and sinew._

_That you are capable of doing so while we do not even occupy the same room is astounding. I wonder at the thought of what you would be capable of during our Concealment._

_I have a keen eye for certain illustrations in this volume. I am returning it to you along with this letter, and you will see that I’ve marked them with small bits of parchment, so that you may continue your imaginings knowing that I have imagined the same._

_Yours,_

_Light_

_P.S. – In the midst of our licentious correspondence, I feel obliged to remind you of the conditions that the Pastor placed upon our Union: namely, that we must undergo religious curriculum with him. And if we plan to marry soon after I am of age, we shall have only a limited time in which to complete the full course of study._

_And I do plan to marry you soon after I am of age, Mr. Lawliet. Make no mistake about that. I wish to complete the classes with all due haste, for I want nothing to hinder us being joined._

_Our Concealment would be such a lovely birthday gift._

 

* * *

 

_Dear Light,_

_As for your first question, it was both, truthfully. I always have a mind to speak the truth to you, but in this instance I was also striving to reduce your thoughts to but one, illicit topic. And I must tell you that I have had a wondrous time indeed perusing those illustrations which you selected for me._

_I promise, on everything dear to me, that when our Concealment is finally upon us, I will show you exactly what I am capable of._

_As I understand it, Concealment traditionally begins the moment that a couple leaves their marriage party. In order that you may receive your birthday gift at the earliest possible time, might I suggest that we wed on the day of your birth?_

_I have taken it upon myself to maintain an infrequent correspondence with Pastor Mikami concerning the cirriculum  For reasons better left unspoken here, I have had a keen interest in keeping communication open. My impression of him thus far is similarly better left unspoken here. I will say only this: he is an exceedingly industrious individual, seemingly. Working often and working tirelessly (at least according to his letters), he views the goodness of his flock as something of a personal responsibility. (I have never subscribed to the notion that one man’s virtue may absolve another man’s wickedness, but that is neither here nor there. I have the sense not to mention such views during our meetings with him, at any rate.) He voiced no objection to the suggestion that you and I journey to the church soon to begin our study._

_At this time, then, all that remains is to confirm with him the date and hour._

_However, I should dearly wish for more meetings with you in the interim period, both for the pleasure of your company and for the advancement of your skill in self-defense. Shall I come to you at your home? I suspect that Athena would like to see you again nearly as much as I._

_Nearly, dear Light._

_Yours,_

_L_

* * *

 

At night, Light dreams.

 

_Flames. Sparked by a single touch, and now engulfing Light in the heat of something so magnificent that he doesn't know where to focus or what to do. He is bathed in fire. He is lit up._

 

_Such a powerful force, immolation is._

 

_L is the fuel, the kindling, and the flint, all rolled into one. Whether or not he knows it, he is. Light suspects that he is ignorant of his power. L frequently whispers into Light's ear. He asks questions like, "good?" and "more?" and "here?"_

 

_Light always nods, breathless. His fingernails rake down L's back in long, harsh lines._

 

_L hisses, but something about his expression tells Light that the pain is not half so great as the pleasure._

 

_"Will you...? I can't..." Light murmurs._

 

_He feels L run one hand from the back of Light's knee to the very end of his thigh, pushing it higher and spreading Light open._

_Light tilts his hips up and toward L, and tears a surprised sound from L’s throat. L surges forward, almost as though some part of him that is not his mind decided to do so, and sinks even further inside._

_He braces himself on his hands, bending over Light and breathing in harsh gasps._

_“Shall I encourage you further?” Light says into his ear. He doesn’t sound like himself._

_“I can’t…you feel…if I don’t stop now, I shan’t be able to,” L whispers._

_“Then don’t…” Light whispers back. “Don’t stop…lose yourself in me.”_

_He watches L’s face in the darkness, the small strands of black hair that obscure his eyes, the pink lips parted just so. The delicacy of his nose…the sharpness of his cheekbones. This is the man Light adores._

_L feels indescribable inside him._

_Light slides one hand to the back of L’s neck and pulls him in for a kiss. He pours himself into it, relishing the taste of L’s mouth and the slide of his lips, and uses the kiss to ask for what he wants. He asks and pleads and urges and begs._

_L is the first to pull away, burying his face into Light’s shoulder and pulling out of Light’s body slowly, gently, before coming back to him again._

_Light inhales. He feels the long slide of L like more flames being kindled to life inside, hot and scorching. Light burns. There is pain and at the same time, no pain at all. It feels right. It feels ­ good. The next time L thrusts, Light rocks with him. The burning gives way to a feeling like liquid smoke. _

 

_Light doesn’t want it to end…he doesn’t want it to ever end. Being with L this way is a revelation that ought never to be broken. Light will crave him always, even when the remains of him are slipping down between Light’s thighs._

_“Light,” L pants harshly. He pushes himself into Light faster and harder than the times before._

_Light finds himself squeezing his thighs around L’s waist, and crossing his ankles together at the small of L’s back. He doesn’t know if he is encouraging L to do more, or trying to keep him in place for a time, enough for Light to catch his breath._

_“Tell me…” whispers L. He slows his pace, and Light feels the largest part of him stretching him open and leaving him in equal turns. “Talk to…talk to me.”_

_“I…I haven’t the words.”_

_“Am I…? Is this….?” L doesn’t finish his sentences, but the questioning lilt in his whispers convey his meaning well enough._

_“No…no…you stop, sir, and I shall murder you,” Light says, with a tired laugh._

_L smiles down at him, weak but genuine. “Did you think…it would be this way?”_

_“Wonderful, you mean?”_

_“More than that,” L tells him, thrusting in at a different angle._

_Light cries out._

_L stills entirely. “Light, is something - ”_

_Light cannot help but make a sort of choked-off sound, hoping that it communicates to L how very much nothing is wrong. _

_Thankfully, L doesn’t pull away. He stills completely, staring down at Light. “You must…you must tell me if - ”_

_“More, more, for the gods’ sake, more” Light babbles, not even bothering to whisper. “You…that…”_

_L thrusts again, hitting the same place inside, but with more power, more intent. Light clings to him, wrapping his arms around L’s broad shoulders. And L does it again. And again, and again, and again, until Light would not remember his own name if it was asked of him. L’s name pours from his mouth over and over again, panted harshly into his neck._

Light awakes in a state that makes him grateful for the darkness.

 

* * *

 

L and Light’s meetings increase in frequency. They see each other nearly twice each week – usually at Light’s home, where L arrives on horseback. Athena is glossy and majestic each time, and she remains quite affectionate toward Light when she sees him. He thanks her for bringing L safely to him by presenting her with apples.

 

The meetings are a pleasure, of course, as they always are. But they are also hard work, and spent in diligent practice. L has scheduled their first lesson with Pastor Mikami for the August the 5th, and he insists that Light must be prepared for several horrid eventualities. As it is still unclear whether or not the Pastor was an active participant in the attempt on Light’s life, they must assume the worst, and enter their lessons with all possible preparations made.

 

“No…no, Light, faster,” L says. “You must anticipate. You mustn’t react. You must make _me_ react.”

 

“Believe it or not, I am _trying_ ,” Light pants. He looks up at L, chest heaving despite his best efforts, and tries to get a grip on L’s breeches pocket and tug him down.

 

L expertly takes his hand before he can. He twists Light’s arm behind his back, forcing Light onto his knees.

 

Light feels L’s whispered words from behind, ghosting over his own earlobe, L’s mouth close enough for his lips to brush there. “ _Try harder_.”

 

Light sighs. He tilts his head to the side, away from L. “That would be easier without your…distractions.”

 

“But what would life be without that small bit of sugar?” asks L. His smile is audible. He lets Light go, and Light stands with a groan.

 

“You are incorrigible,” he says. There is a substantial amount of dirt on his trousers and a similar amount of sweat on his brow. His muscles ache, especially those of his forearms.

 

They are in the fields to the South of his parents’ home. The late July sun hangs low in the sky, painting it in washes of reds and golds. Matsuda sits a distance away, in one of the rocking chairs, drinking Mother’s tea. L and Light have been sparring for hours. By unspoken agreement, they’ve taken their practice to new heights of focus lately. It has occupied their last several meetings. Over and over, Light has found his strength and endurance tested. L has the advantage of years of such training, and so he still bests Light nine times out of ten. But Light never voices a complaint, or pauses to question L’s methods. He is not weak.

 

And a threat, after all, does lie on the horizon.

 

“Is there truly time for such frivolities? When we do not know what dangers the future will bring?” he asks L, trying to focus them both to the task at hand. His ear still tingles where L’s lips brushed it.  

 

L takes a step closer to him, and Light is suddenly much more aware of Matsuda’s watchful gaze.

 

“All the more reason to savor such things,” says L. His black gaze ensnares Light.  

 

It is unforgivable, the way that Light’s breath catches inside his chest.

 

“But you prove yourself prudent, as always, nonetheless” L continues, looking away. With his back to Light, he turns to look upon the coming sunset. “We ought to count our blessings, truthfully, that we have even this much time to prepare. We know not exactly how cunning our enemy is. Misa’s surveillance has been preliminary only, at this early stage. She reports no sign of Kiyomi Takada, or, indeed, of any flowers of any kind either. Of course this does not mean that they are not there to be found, someplace hidden from her. Perhaps the Pastor suspects her. Perhaps he does not, and it is only by coincidence that she has not uncovered any clues. Perhaps he is not involved in any of this. I relish the opportunity of looking upon him myself, again.” Light watches L against the red sun’s rays. He sees L raise his chin slightly, and hears him speak with a new tone: one of hard, grim determination. “I relish the opportunity to bring your would-be assassin to justice.”

 

“I would wager that there is no criminal you could not capture,” Light tells him, smiling a bit. “Except, of course, if that criminal were me,” he adds.

 

L chuckles under his breath, still looking at the horizon. “Thinking of becoming an outlaw, are we?”

 

“Oh, who knows?” Light says, with a casual sort of shrug. “I might be good at it. I’d give you a good chase, at the very least. You’d never hunt another one like me.”

 

“Mmm…” L sounds like he’s smiling sadly. “I do believe you’re right about that.”

 

Light moves to stand at L’s side. He watches the artful profile, the delicate curves and hollows of this man he’s decided to bind himself to – in something more than an old social custom. Something more than name.

 

“All will be well,” Light tells him softly. “You’ll see.”

 

L doesn’t reply for many long moments. And then he says, “Light, if the worst should happen, I need to know that you will protect yourself from harm.”

 

“When have you ever known me to act recklessly?”

 

“I have the sneaking suspicion that you have surprises in store for me yet,” L says, smirking a bit. Light gives him a deadpan sort of look, and L’s expression sobers. “But I was not speaking of dangerous situations in general. I meant a specific event, one in which I am unable to protect you. I need your assurances that you will do all that you can to save yourself, even if I cannot help you.”

 

Light feels his lips pull into a frown. He doesn’t like the turn this conversation has taken. “That situation would only arise if you had been seriously injured or killed…or taken hostage, I suppose…and if you’re asking me to know that and choose to leave you and save myself - ”

 

“Now, now, Light, you must hold tightly to your reason - ”

 

“Oh, must I? What else must I do, while you are giving out senseless proscriptions? You are already asking me to go against my very nature, what’s a bit more after that?”

 

“Dear Light, be rational. I know you are capable of it. If I am in so dire a position that I can be of no help to you, it would be the height of foolishness to put yourself into the same position. You need to look after yourself. If you achieve safety and are able to alert help, that would be one thing, but - ”

 

“But how could I alone offer you any aid? Why do we spar, then? For what reason are you teaching me to defend myself, if you believe any action I take will be fruitless in the end anyway?”

 

“Perhaps I have not conveyed my meaning adequately, then. I apologize. I mean only that I would rather see you unharmed than see you put yourself at risk on my account. If I were to be forcibly detained, or close to death, nothing would give me greater peace than the knowledge that you were safe.”

 

Light takes a deep breath. He reminds himself that L means him no insult, and in fact is displaying the sort of care for him that Light still sometimes cannot quite believe he is lucky enough to possess.    

 

“And while I appreciate the sentiment inherent in that, I cannot place greater value on your peace of mind than I place on your life, L. Surely you can understand that. You are asking me to give you an assurance that I cannot give. I will not make you an oath I cannot hold to.”

 

“But by the same token, you are asking me to accept something that I cannot accept. I cannot allow you to put yourself in danger for me. And I cannot do anything but put forward my utmost effort in persuading you to maintain your own safety.”

 

“Then if you are so concerned with my safety, ensure it in another way. Instead of extracting a promise from me that I have neither the intention nor the capability of keeping, simply ensure that you are never harmed. If you are well and whole, I shall have no inclination to rush into danger to save you.” Light smiles. “It is both logical and poetic. Is that enough for you?”

 

L watches him for a beat, then gives Light a small, rueful smirk. “I suppose a marriage must sometimes be based in compromise, yes?”

 

“You may call it a compromise, sir, if it makes you feel better.”

 

“Aha!” L says, with a kind of surprised, reluctant pleasure. “May I indeed? Do watch yourself, Light. I am still your sparring partner, after all.”

 

Light dusts the dirt off of his trousers. “You are my partner in more than that, L,” he says, before adopting the defensive posture L taught him, bending his knees and raising one fist to guard his jaw. “Shall we continue?”

 

* * *

 

Their first lesson takes place as scheduled, inside the church itself. Matsuda drives them in his taxi carriage, as L reasoned that any obvious displays of his station might dissuade the Pastor from judging their motives sincere. Light had grown accustomed to the comforts of silver carpets and plush seats. He is ashamed of himself for the thought, but he longs for the familiarity they bring.

 

He will not admit to nervousness. But a healthy dose of caution is nothing more than wisdom at work.

 

“Mr. Lawliet…Light Yagami,” the Pastor greets them, holding open the door to a small church office. “May the gods be with you.”

 

“And with you, Pastor Mikami,” Light recites. There can be no response but that one, and he speaks for both L and himself when gives it.

 

They both come into the office, and Pastor Mikami seats himself behind a large oak desk. He wears a dark gray suit with a very high, severe collar, and buttons that run from the very top of the neck to his waist. As before, the Pastor shows himself to be utterly serious.

 

“I trust you are both ready to open your minds and hearts to the blessings of faith?” he asks.

 

The office is impersonal to the point of being cavernous. Light can see one jar of ink and small black quill on the Pastor’s desk and two books stacked neatly in one of corner. There is nothing ornamental or decorative anywhere that he can see. Searching for anything that seemed extraneous in any way was a quick way of finding potential clues, but Pastor Mikami is either innocent or too careful to leave anything where unwelcome eyes might spot it.  There are two little chairs in front of the desk, barely large enough to be made for grown men. Light is sure that they are meant to convey Pastor Mikami’s supposed importance in comparison to whomever visits him.  

 

L and Light take their places in the seats.

 

“Undoubtedly, Pastor,” L answers. He speaks more quickly than usual, with an eager sort of breathiness. “I, for one, want our marriage to be sanctified in every possible way. Just as Light is valued as one of your flock, so I wish to be, that I might honor him and the church.”

 

“Ah, I see,” Pastor Mikami replies. He makes more eye contact than is strictly customary, and seems always to be looking from L to Light and back again. Light gets the impression that he is measuring them against each other, waiting to catch an inconsistency between the two.

 

He will find none. They have prepared well for this venture.

 

“And do you, Light, feel that your Suitor will prove himself to be a faithful companion to you, in your journey to greater closeness with the gods?”

 

The question is a transparent attempt at catching Light making a statement of pridefulness. Light will not be taken so easily.

 

“With study, and your guidance, I have every confidence that he will, Pastor,” Light says.

 

Pastor Mikami nods. “You are well-spoken. And thoughtful. More clever than some give you credit for, I should think.”

 

“Thank you, Pastor.”

 

“Thanks are unnecessary when the truth is plain. Especially when no courage is required to speak it.”

 

“…thank you, Pastor,” Light repeats. He is uncertain of exactly what he has done to reveal his intelligence in church – he has always made silence and the appearance of normalcy his closest friends on Sundays - but knows better than to question what Pastor Mikami declares fact.

 

“Very well. At the beginning of the curriculum, it is necessary for me to speak with each of you individually,” the Pastor says, pulling a handkerchief from his pocket and taking off his spectacles to polish them.

 

Light and L find each other’s eyes in the smallest of moments.

 

“Ah, I rather hoped we might postpone that bit for our next lesson,” L says. “You see, being that we are, of course, constrained by the rules of Courtship, we are not presently at liberty to extend our hours here beyond - ”

 

“It shan't take long, I assure you. And besides, I am quite sure that such guidelines might be bent in favor of the gods,” says Pastor Mikami offhandedly. “After all, who better to vouch for your chastity than myself?”

 

Light must consciously command his lips not to twist unpleasantly at this comment.

 

“Though very generous, I am sure we ought not take you up on your offer. As Pastor of such an important congregation, you must have more pressing matters to attend to than the curfews of two young men Courting,” L says. “We shall just - ”

 

“Oh, Mr. Lawliet, no indeed,” says Pastor Mikami, smoothly interrupting him. He smiles, and Light fancies that his teeth are sharpened to fine points. “In fact, I do insist. You shall be the first. Light, you may wait in the corridor outside. Fear not. Your Suitor shall be in the very best of hands.”

 

They are left with very little choice in the matter, then. To flatly refuse is out of the question if they are to maintain any sort of plausible deniability concerning the investigation. To feign some sort of sudden pressing matter would only open the possibility of being caught in a lie, and being discovered in the act would surely mean the end of their engagement. That is something Light is unwilling to risk.

 

Light hopes that his hearing is at least good enough that he may know if the Pastor attempts anything untoward.

 

L turns to Light. “I shall be just beyond the door, dearest,” he murmurs, like a Suitor so mindlessly besotted he can hardly bear to be parted for even so brief a time as this. He plays the part convincingly, and the lingering kiss he bestows on Light’s hand is just the thing to seal the performance.

 

Pastor Mikami must think of L as nothing more than a rich man who, while intelligent, is deep in the throes of a powerful infatuation. He must never suspect that there is anything more at work. The Pastor will therefore be assured of L’s harmlessness. Any questions he might harbor about why someone with so high a station as L Lawliet might Offer for someone so low as Light Yagami may be put to rest in this way. Their investigation will be secure.

 

Light knows his part well, too. He must be as he once pretended: grateful for the financial security that the Match brings and far removed from feeling any passion for L in return.

 

“Of course, Mr. Lawliet,” he says demurely. “I shall do as our Pastor bids.”

 

The ‘ _our_ ’ is an important touch, not only for the symbol it gives of he and L’s unity, but also for the faithfulness to church teaching that it implies on L’s part.

 

When the door closes shut behind him with a small _snick_ , Light reminds himself that L is a grown man with years of experience dealing with criminals and violence and suspects of dubious character. He has no cause to worry after L’s security, waiting as he is just outside. L would give some sign if something was amiss. L is brilliant. He will not let himself be harmed. Light is letting his emotions get the best of him again. He cares for L, that’s all, and is seeing danger where none lies.

 

Light paces.

 

* * *

 

In the end, Light does not wait for more than half an hour for L’s return. The door opens and L appears in the frame. His eyes are cloudy with thought, but he looks to be in no distress, physical or otherwise. Over L’s shoulder, Light can see Pastor Mikami still seated at his desk, replacing his spectacles and paying no more attention to either of them.

 

“The Pastor recommends that I return here with you in one week’s time, to further my study of the church,” L says. “I believe our chaperone awaits. Shall we go, Light?”

 

Pastor Mikami gives no sign of having heard this, bids no farewell of any kind, and does not request to speak to Light privately next.

 

Tasting a hundred different questions on his tongue, Light does not press L for details of the encounter right then. He slides his hand into the crook of L’s elbow, and together they walk back the way they came, to Matsuda’s taxi carriage.

 

During the drive back to Light’s home, they discuss L’s impressions of the Pastor, what the Pastor said to him that could not be said in Light’s presence, and the things that L deduced throughout their short visit.

 

There is much to consider.

 

* * *

 

Morning dawns bright and warm. Light wakes to the sounds of Mother preparing breakfast - porridge and biscuits, by the smell of it. Sayu is, surprisingly, at the table already, several folded pieces of parchment in front of her. Each one has crisp edges. Half of the cards are unadorned and the other half have pretty, purple ribbons tying the ends together.  Sayu is tying more ribbons to the unfinished half, humming to herself.

 

“Good morning, Light…shall I pour you a spot of porridge?” Mother asks from her place at the hearth, somehow knowing that Light is awake without seeing him.

 

Sayu looks up hastily. “Light! Look what I have!” She holds up one of the cards, smiling broadly. “Invitations!”

 

Light sits up in his bed, wondering at how on earth he was able to lie abed longer than his little sister.

 

The invitations. They can only be for one event.

 

“I do hope you like them, dear,” Mother says. She moves away from the hearth, setting a heavy pot onto their table. “I did fret over the wording, and no mistake. Your father was quite sick of my going back and forth over this line or that! I think he would have liked to have gone with something traditional from the print maker and have that be that. But I did think that Mr. Lawliet – L, _L_ , goodness, that is certainly a difficult habit to break – would warrant something a bit finer than that. Even if he isn’t quite the kind to stand on a Gentryman’s ceremony.”

 

“I think they are lovely, Mother!” Sayu tells her earnestly. “Light will too. Light, you simply must see!”

 

Mother takes one of the folded cards and brings it to Light’s bedside.

 

“There you are, dear,” she says, holding it out. “I had an extra made, for you and L to keep.”

 

Light takes the card. He cannot name the feeling wrapping itself around his chest as he touches the fine paper. He looks from it to his Mother’s warm smile and back again several times. “Thank you, Mother,” he says.

 

Her smile widens in answer.

 

With careful fingers, Light unties the shining ribbon.

_You are Cordially Invited_

_To a Match Celebration._

_Light Yagami,_

_Son of Soichiro and Sachiko Yagami,_

_Is Engaged to be Married_

_To Mr. L Lawliet,_

_Son of Lajos and Catherine Lawliet,_

_Grandson of Quilsh Wammy._

_Come and celebrate their Union with us,_

_Saturday, September the 3 rd, _

_At Five o’clock,_

_In the Yagami Household._  
  
_Please send your intent to attend by return post,_

_At your earliest convenience._

_The Sight of the one is adored,_

_And the Touch of the other is beloved._

_May the gods smile on their Match._

 

“Well?” Sayu asks eagerly. “They’re nice, aren’t they? You like them, don’t you?”

 

Light stares at the card and its elegant script for a moment more. "I love them," he says finally, tucking the card safely under his pillow. "I love them."

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all so much for waiting patiently for this installment. Several factors conspired against my making progress on this fic, but I have vanquished them for the time being!
> 
>  
> 
> BC3, I could not have come this far in life or in this story without you. Thank you once again for always being there for my work, and for me.
> 
>  
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has encouraged me and kept up with this little project. You’ve all sent such lovely reviews, comments, and messages, and I couldn’t ask for a better fandom. I hope this chapter did not disappoint. Think of it as an early gift for the holidays. (Or use it to distract you from America’s appalling and inexcusable election results. Lord knows I certainly have.)
> 
>  
> 
> Please let me know what you thought of this one! The next chapter will contain the Match Celebration!
> 
>  
> 
> \- Magic


	16. Chapter Sixteen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which a Match is Celebrated, and someone wicked is captured.

“Sayu!” Mother calls out. She is fluttering about the house on feather-light footsteps, arranging tablecloths, wiping down counters, and generally worrying over everything in sight. “ _Do_ tell me that you’ve finished those centerpieces!”

 

“…Almost!” answers Sayu.

 

Father is peering into their only mirror, doing up a careful knot in his necktie. At first glance, he seems to be as calm as Mother is anxious, serene and optimistic. But Light looks closer and sees the swiftness of his breathing.

 

“Are you all ready, then, son?” Father asks, turning from the mirror at last. “Everything in order?”

 

Light nods. He is dressed in his best (and only) suit, the one that L gifted him with those months ago. The ruby cufflinks that L bought for him at the Summer Soiree are fastened neatly at his wrists. He has been dressed and ready for nearly three hours now.

 

“I think so, Father,” he answers.

  
  
“And your wedding gift is all done up, is it? All wrapped?”

 

“Yes…Mother’s got it on the table in the sitting room,” says Light.

 

The espresso cup he carved for L (painstakingly, with many hours’ toil and many discarded attempts tossed into the compost heap) has been smoothed to an even polish and sealed with a clear glaze. Inside, Light has tucked his note.

 

He prays that no one will attempt to read it over L’s shoulder when L opens the gift box.

 

“Splendid,” pronounces Father, with a satisfied nod. “I expect Mr. Lawliet…L, _L_ , I mean…gods, these formal occasions do trip one up in their habits, do they not? I expect he should be here shortly.”

 

Light hopes that L will arrive not only shortly but _very_ shortly. His heart is racing and his fingertips tremble if he allows them to; he needs L’s presence, if only for the knowledge that he will not have to suffer through this spectacle of social theater alone.

 

Too quickly to stop himself, Light finds his gaze drawn to the bouquet sitting on a stool by the front door. The vase is large and curved, painted a brilliant golden color. And the arrangement inside is larger still: huge blooms of orange roses, interspersed with baby’s breath.

 

If the flowers had been sent by anyone else, Light would wonder if their meaning – enthusiasm and desire – was merely coincidental. But as they had been by sent L, he could only conclude that the message was quite considered indeed. Especially because the small card attached to the bouquet read:

 

_For what has already bloomed between us, and for what has not yet bloomed, but will. – L_

 

Were Mother and Father knowledgeable in the language of flowers? Light hopes not.

 

Despite the public display that he and L were about to put on for the town at large, there were many things that Light preferred to keep absolutely private between them.

 

This darker, heated attraction between them being chief among those.

 

Their exchanges regarding L’s secret books are as steadily passionate as always. Light doubts his ability to concisely describe how he reacts to them. L probably has no idea of the depth of Light’s response to his delicate suggestions. And L is always so eloquent in his letters. Light is learning from him, but never fast enough. And he wants L to _understand_. It is difficult to put that caramel-thick feeling in his lower stomach to words. Hard to say just how eager he is to see L again when they are apart, not just for his conversation, but for his physical company as well (which Light admits shamefully to himself).

 

He thinks about it often, more than is probably healthy or advisable. Especially because his tasks lately have been less and less of taking care of the crops and more and more of harvesting them, and it is frighteningly dull work. Mostly, Light has concerned himself with the corn. Early September (sometimes October too, if the year is a particularly warm one) usually finds him occupied with the mindless, back-breaking task of picking the corn from its stalks and storing it away for use through winter. The spring wheat needs harvesting too, but it is no more enjoyable to work with. Light has always spent his time in the fields thinking of other things: the future, and what possible ways he could make it better for himself and his family. Sometimes idle dreams of making something of himself – a gentleman in his own right. Perhaps someone with a vast education. Someone in control of his own destiny, and the power, _the right_ , to make a contribution to the world. Someone who could correct the unconscionable wrongs of their society, and change the world for the better.

 

Despite this thing between he and L, and how valuable Light finds it, he cannot escape these dreams. He doesn’t believe it is in his nature to.

 

He catches a glance of himself in the mirror. He adjusts his grey cravat, without any real idea as to why. He feels like there is an itch under his skin, and he can find no peace. He _hates_ this feeling. He thinks idly of how lovely it would be if L were coming to simply collect him for another meeting, and not joining him so that they might both be put on display for public consumption.

 

Perhaps he is being ungrateful. Perhaps he ought not to think of how uncomfortable it makes him, but rather how much love his parents are showing him. Saving bit by bit for all these years, ever since his birth, in the hopes of making him happy now and celebrating his…his what? His being sold, essentially, to the highest bidder? After all, Mother and Father had no reason to think that he would fall in –

 

That he would have feelings for his Match.

 

They expected that he would be Offered for and sent away.

 

Light should not think this way. He knows that Mother and Father would not have devised these customs themselves, if it were up to them. They are simply beholden to the society in which they were raised, as most people are.

 

There comes a knock at the front door. It is all that Light can do not to jump out of his skin.

 

“Ah!” Mother shouts from somewhere in the kitchen. “That will be L and Mr. Wammy, I expect!”

 

She comes rushing in, patting her hair, which is pinned up in elegant curls. Sayu bounds down the stairs, skirts flying around her in her haste. They are both dressed in the nicest fabrics Light has ever seen them wear: heavy silks of blue and cream and shining ribbons.

 

Mother looks through the front window and nods. “Ah yes…’tis his fine carriage, Light!”

 

Light follows her to the window and sees that it is indeed L’s carriage, drawn by five horses this time, instead of four. Athena is in the lead, her size and strength made more impressive by being compared to the rest.

 

“Go on, dear,” Mother says to him. She smiles kindly, gesturing toward the door. “Do the honors, won’t you?”

 

For a split second, Light hesitates. It isn’t possible for him to avoid the Match Celebration. Oh, but how he wishes it were. How he wishes that he and L had no obligations and nothing compelling them to spend time with individuals they neither know nor particularly like. How he wishes they could simply be alone together.

 

The world is not kind enough for that.

 

Light nods silently, thinking something along the lines of _now or never_.

 

When he opens the door, it is indeed Mr. Wammy. Mr. Wammy and L, who is looking fine enough to knock the very breath from Light’s lungs.

 

“Hello, Light,” he says, smiling like he knows _exactly_ what Light is thinking. He sweeps his hat off of his head and bows low. The hat is large, with the brim of one side turned up and curled over onto itself. There is an ostrich feather set there, and it brushes the ground with L’s theatrics.

 

When he stands upright again, Light realizes that he wears all blacks and whites. Black suit jacket…white waistcoat. Black breeches and black stockings and black, shining, heeled shoes. His dramatic hat and its equally dramatic feather are white. The whole ensemble makes him look even taller, and quite formal, and altogether too powerful. Light has only just enough wherewithal to say, “Hello, Suitor mine.”

 

“Mr. Wammy,” says Mother, with obvious warmth and sincerity. “L…we’re all of us so happy to see you.”

 

“Absolutely,” Father echoes.

 

He and Mother come to Light’s side, bowing in their turn. Mr. Wammy bows back, just as if he were the lower born party and not the member of their little group who has the highest social standing.

 

“It is a pleasure to see you all again, Master Yagami, Mistress Yagami,” he says cordially. “And you, young Sayu,” he adds with a smile.

 

Sayu smiles hugely and performs a well-practiced curtsey. “Hi!”

 

“My goodness…” Mr. Wammy says, raising his chin and inhaling deeply. “Something smells positively heavenly.”

 

“Ah, does it? Splendid. We have two turkeys roasting, you see. It was no mean feat to situate them properly in that oven of ours. At one point, we were almost certain half the guests would go hungry!” says Mother, laughing as she does. “Oh but, listen to me, going on and on while you both wait at our doorstep! Please, do come in!”

 

* * *

 

One after another, in a seemingly endless line, the guests arrive. There are Father’s fellows from the policehand’s academy - Ide, Aizawa, Ukita, and Mogi - along with their wives and children. There are various families from Church, some of whom Light is quite familiar with -  like Mistress Sasaki – and some that Light has only seen or heard from once or twice in his life. The Church players arrive as well. There is Miss Kabuto, the harpist, and her brother, who plays the bass. There are two violinists with them, and a huge man carrying three equally huge drums. Kiyomi Takada arrives, too, with her parents and younger brother. Sayu’s friends from Schoolhouse arrive in one large group, about five of them in total. Their various parents and guardians all come in after them, as if they discussed ahead of time when they ought to arrive, and all shared a taxi carriage. The guests simply come and come and come, and many new horses have surely joined Pendleton, Jackson, and Athena in the stables.  

 

Light greets so many people, and introduces so many to L, that everyone’s names begin to blur together. He has never been particularly skilled with matching faces to names (chiefly because most people bore him too much to make much of an impression on him), and now it is even worse, because his mind occupies itself so much with thoughts of what judgments these community members are making about he and his Suitor. Light cares nothing for these people’s tastes and opinions, and tells himself that their conclusions will mean nothing. He knows it to be true, and yet he cannot ignore the sidelong glances he catches.

 

“Do they really still _need_ a Match Celebration if they are Courting too?” one of the Nara sisters asks, lifting a hand to her mouth as she speaks. Her dress fits so tightly that the maneuver does not appear at all easy. “I suppose it is tradition, but there is _nothing_ traditional about this.”

 

“That is too true, Sister,” the other whispers back. “One could almost accuse them both of holding the party out of a greedy sort of attention-seeking. Quite unfortunate, to have such an insatiable need for the gaze of others.” She adjusts her emerald necklace and bracelet so that they catch more light.

 

Without knowing exactly why, Light cannot refrain from keeping himself to the utmost politeness or hospitable behavior. He pretends not to have heard their whispers, and offers the Nara sisters rose water, as he does for all of the guests, and informs them of the refreshments available outside. He does not look at them askance, or remark upon their obvious hypocrisy, or even casually mention their own numerous failed Matches.

 

L places a hand at the small of Light’s back. Light turns to him, drawn unerringly to the warmth of his touch, and L turns him gently away.

 

“Light, I do believe our dear Mr. Matsuda is arriving,” he says, casting a quick but violent glance at the two strumpets. “Let us greet him, shall we?”

 

Light nods, following L to the front door, where Matsuda is taking off his coat and grinning.

 

“Hi Light!” he says enthusiastically. “Hi, Mr. Lawliet! Wow, there are sure a lot of people here! You guys are popular!”

 

“We’re glad you could come, Matsuda,” Light tells him, surprised to find that he means it. “It wouldn’t be the same without our Chaperone.”

 

“Indeed,” L agrees, bowing to Matsuda.

 

Matsuda’s grin turns sheepish, and he scratches at the back of his head. “Yeah? You mean it? Say…have either of you seen - ”

 

“Miss Amane!” Mother suddenly exclaims. “How…generous…of you to join us.”

 

To Light’s surprise, Miss Amane crosses the threshold a moment later, dressed in silks of brilliant green. Her hair is done up in a newly fashionable manner, and she carries a small purse that jingles loudly with coins.

 

“Hello, Mistress Yagami,” she says demurely, giving a small curtsy in Mother’s direction. “I wouldn’t miss this for the world! I’m only sorry that my dear Teru cannot be here with me. He would have loved to come, you see, but he had a funeral to officiate, the poor lamb. And of course as the Church Pastor, he really can’t put anything ahead of his work. But he does send his regrets, and his warm regards!”

 

“Miss…Amane,” Matsuda says haltingly, stepping forward as she comes farther into the foyer. He gives her a very deep bow indeed, before standing once more, and looking at her from head to toe. Light thinks that Miss Amane’s entire cover will be blown by the shocked pleasure in Matsuda’s eyes.

 

“It is nice to see you again, Master Matsuda,” says Miss Amane. She casts her eyes to the floor, almost as if she deems herself lacking in some way, or feels otherwise ashamed.

 

Recovering quickly though, she turns to address L and Light. “It is nice to see you both again, sirs,” she says. “I must thank you for your kind invitation here today.”

 

“We are very glad to have you share in our happiness, Miss Amane,” L replies, sounding like there is more to his words than their formal nature might suggest.

 

Several more guests pour inside, and these lasts are of the Gentry class. They are set apart not by their fine clothing or hats, but by the uncertain, almost nervous air in which they carry themselves. All of them greet Mother and Father as is customary, and L and Light as well, but they look about the house with wide eyes and unsure steps.

 

Clearly some of them have arrived for the gossip alone. The Nara sisters, to be sure, are a part of this collection. So too is a Gentry couple arriving from the East, Mrs. and Mrs. Eloise Tanaka. They ask snide, overly personal questions after saying their how-do-you-dos. And they do not seem happily, or even indifferently, married. They bicker with each other almost from the outset.

 

Others appear genuinely happy to see “the Yagami boy” superiorly Matched. They meet L with a kind, somewhat curious air, and ask after his business and pedigree. Of these, Light finds himself remembering Mr. Akashi, a very extraverted, joking sort, and his wife, Mrs. Akashi, who dotes upon him as if he were a pet she was fond of.

 

Still others seem to have come to the Match Celebration out of no other motivation but pure, unadulterated boredom. Mr. and Mr. Wanatabe, of Gilded Meadows, seem indifferent to both L and Light, and each other. They stand about in their fine suits and cravats, smoking cigars and wondering aloud how long they shall stay.

 

Light wonders, wryly, what would happen if he were to speak his mind here. What sort of scene would erupt if he were to open his mouth and clearly call to carpet those who have only arrived to enjoy a front-row seat to the town’s best gossip? How many people would be left here, at their Match Celebration, after Light dismissed the ones who came only out of selfish curiosity? Ten? Fifteen?

 

The differences in station are painfully clear, too. Those who are members of the Gentry and those lowborn seem to naturally and irreversibly segregate themselves from one another. And no matter one’s station, Mr. Wammy is given many ostentatious shows of respect by all who attend. He is accorded the place of highest station. In this way, even though the Match Celebration is being held at Mother and Father’s residence, Mr. Wammy is still shown greater respect than they.

 

Sometime during the endless greetings, L and Light - along with nearly all of their guests - find themselves brought to the back field. Mother and Father have laid out tables there, and covered them with an array of food and drink: lemonade and orange juice, mulled wines, stout ales, slices of apples, handfuls of grapes, a basketful of Light’s own slot cookies, slices of rye bread, and hearty cheeses. The guests break into small groups, seemingly content to entertain each other in conversation, while the Church players bring themselves and their instruments to one side of the field. Miss Kabuto and her brother play such large instruments that several hands are required to arrange them into their proper places. When all is set to rights, they begin to play, and a playful, bouncing melody begins to drift over the grass. The guests eat and drink and dance and, above all, talk.

 

Light spots a tall woman in a bright yellow dress slipping through the back door, escorted by Father. Her hair is longer now, and Light can see that there are more strands of silver in it than there once was, but he recognizes her instantly.

 

“L…” Light murmurs. He stands taller, leaning as close to L as he dares so that he may whisper into his ear. “There’s someone I want to introduce you to.”

 

“Oh?” L asks, nodding politely to a group of Sayu’s friends. They have taken to running past him at irregular intervals, smiling and giggling loudly. So far, he has borne their attention with nothing but a resigned sigh, but Light knows that his patience must eventually wane. “Then by all means - by _all_ means - do lead the way.”

 

When they reach the woman, Father is smiling and telling her, “ah – look at them now! Our Light has grown a bit taller than when last you saw him, eh? And here we have his esteemed Suitor, Mr. L Lawliet. We’ve grown quite fond of him these past months, I must say. L, may I present Mistress Murasaki Shikibu – Light’s godmother, and the only woman brave enough, and smart enough, to deal with us at the academy.”

 

Father is called over by another guest, and quickly excuses himself.

 

“Lovely to meet you, Mistress Shikibu,” L says politely, bowing to her.

 

“It’s wonderful to see you again,” Light tells her, bowing as well. “It’s been a long time.”

 

“Ah, but it has, lad,” Mistress Shikibu agrees. “Can’t say that I’ve aged well for it, more’s the pity. But there’s still some strength left in these old bones!” she wags a finger in L’s direction. “Enough to protect my godson, mind you, sir, should any harm befall him. They never allowed me a weapon at the academy - on account of my lacking that one thing you men are often so proud of – so I had to learn to become my own weapon. And believe you me, I should give you the scare of your life should you hurt our Light.”

  
  
L grins a bit, and nods.

 

“I should think twice before crossing either he or you, ma’am,” he tells her. 

 

Light sees that he is taking to Mistress Shikibu just as quickly as Light himself did, all those years ago. She was always a fearless sort of person, blunt, and less concerned for protocol than for results. The rituals of Church life, too, never concerned her overmuch, but she led a dutiful, honest life. She had something of the warrior spirit in her, which led her to the policehand’s academy in the first place. Father argued for her right to possess a gun, and work in the town proper, like all the rest of the hands, but he was overruled by their Sargent. In the end, Mistress Shikibu was relegated (oh-so-generously) to record-keeping.

 

She studies L with narrowed eyes in silence for a few beats. Then she turns to Light and says, quite loud enough for anyone in the vicinity to hear, “I like him, Light. He’s got a good air about him. And a good pair of ears. And a good pair of legs, to boot.”

 

Light covers his face with one hand, feeling an odd mixture of acute embarrassment and warm fondness. 

 

“Godmother, please,” he says into his palm. “’Tis far too early for such talk. We haven’t even had dessert.”

 

“Ah, is that what we are to call it now?” L asks, cheekily.

 

Light slaps his shoulder, and Mistress Shikibu beams.  


* * *

 

“Mr. Lawliet!” calls Mr. Akashi, waving him to one side of the field. “Do regale us with news of the fur trade! My wife here believes that we’re to lose heartily if those tax rumours come to pass!”

 

L curses under his breath, clearly conveying how very little he wishes to do so. But Light gives him a little push, underlining the necessity of maintaining a good face among the other Gentry members, and L shuffles away obediently.

 

Finding himself alone, Light wanders, somehow getting much less attention when he is not on L’s arm. He is grateful for the quiet. There are so many people around him, and so many different facets of his life colliding, that he needs seclusion now that he is in a position to get it. He strolls away from the people, the food, and the music, toward a section of field where the corn is grown.

 

The plants are tall enough now that they provide sufficient cover for a grown man. Light slips in among them, hidden away in their large leaves, and walks the full length of the patch. He simply breathes, drinking in the completeness of his solitude.

 

…which, in the end, is not as complete as he supposed.

 

At the edge of the corn crops, blocked away from any view of the party-goers, are Matsuda and Misa. Light finds them standing far closer to each other than polite company would ever tolerate: they hold each other’s hands, facing each other, and Misa’s eyes are closed, her head resting on Matsuda’s chest. She looks quieter and more peaceful than Light has ever seen her. Matsuda, too, seems calmer somehow. He looks down at Misa with a new and striking sort of protectiveness.

 

The picture they make is too much for Light to study any longer. He feels like a voyeur, and turns away quickly, going back the way he came.

 

When he re-enters the Celebration, he spots L immediately, standing near refreshment tables, drinking what looks to be wine. Then, Light sees a tallish young man approach him. The stranger has shoulder-length brown hair and wears what looks to be a very expensive suit. Someone from the Gentry, clearly: he approaches L with an easy confidence, for all that he appears to be no older than a teenager.

 

“Mr. L Lawliet,” Light hears him say. “Ryuga Hideki, at your service. It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance.” He makes a movement that is more than a nod but less than a bow. “And my congratulations on your Match.”

 

“My thanks, Ryuga,” L replies. He swirls his wine in his glass, looking out among the guests on the field. “Pleasing to make your acquaintance as well.” Then he says drily, “Would that I could entertain you with that Match of mine but he seems to have gone on some wayward way or another.”

 

Inwardly, Light smiles at this. There is a huge oak tree nearby, one that might conceal him enough that he could listen more closely to L and Ryuga’s conversation.

 

“Ah, I am sure he is busy entertaining more important people than I,” Mr. Hideki says, sounding surprisingly sincere. “My father and mother are just over there, near the players. They run the Autumn Pass Theater Company, you see.”

 

“You don’t say,” L remarks. He makes a good show of appearing politely interested.

 

“Precisely,” Mr. Hideki says.

 

A few moments of awkward silence pass between them, during which Mr. Hideki appears to be steeling his nerve.

 

“Say, Mr. Lawliet,” he finally says, looking not at L at all, but somewhere in the distance. “Would you do me the kindness of answering a somewhat impertinent question of mine?”

 

Hearing this, Light immediately fears the worst: this Gentryman will inquire as to L’s inexplicable interest in a Tradesman’s son and ask after what is the true reason for his Offer.

 

“I’m afraid that would depend on the particulars of this ‘impertinent question’,” L answers. “Yes, Ryuga?”

 

“Do you happen to know your Match’s little sister well?”

 

Light feels all of his suspicions instantly transform themselves into something entirely new. It is clear from Mr. Hideki’s tone, and the particular brightness of his eyes, that he is asking after Sayu for personal reasons.

 

And, with a shock, Light realizes that Mr. Hideki’s gaze is all but fixed to Sayu herself. She stands some distance away, babbling happily to some of her schoolmates, who all look awed to be present for the Celebration. Mr. Hideki looks at Sayu as if seeing a girl for the first time, and gives no eye contact to his conversation partner.

 

L makes a thoughtful sound. “We have been acquainted here and there. She is everything one would expect of a girl her age.”

 

“I’ve never seen anyone with more _joie de vivre_. Just look at her smile! One can see her spirit in everything she does. Have you ever met anyone with more enthusiasm for the world?”

 

“I suppose she is quite energetic, yes,” L agrees. He takes a long drink of his wine, looking around the field. “I wonder where dear Light has run off to…”

 

“Perhaps we shall find him if we ask his sister!” Mr. Hideki exclaims, finally turning to L.

 

“Ryuga, what brings forth your interest in Miss Sayu?” asks L, straight to the point. “Coming from someone of your station, most in Autumn Pass would look at such interest as peculiar at best and downright unnatural at worst.”

 

“I suppose you would be familiar with both of those,” Mr. Hideki says, sounding somehow apologetic. “And I realize that as your family and hers are to be joined soon, my coming to you with my inquiries are quite out of the norm. It isn’t as though you will be the executor of her Suit. It is simply that….well…to be honest, I have never really spoken to anyone of the lower classes before. I’m afraid I simply don’t know how to go about it! And…she is quite beautiful, is she not?”

 

Wryly, L replies, “It isn’t as though I can deny a fondness for the family resemblance.”

 

“…what?” Mr. Hideki asks, pulling his gaze from Sayu as if by a monumental effort. “I don’t understand.”

 

L sighs. “I simply meant agreement. Yes, she is beautiful, Ryuga.”

 

“Ah,” says Mr. Hideki happily. “Yes. I should dearly like to make her acquaintance.”

 

“Well…” says L. “I suppose that there is nothing preventing it.”

 

L leads Mr. Hideki to Sayu and her friends, who all burst into fiendish giggling at L’s approach. They immediately scatter away, embarrassed.

 

Neither L nor Mr. Hideki nor Sayu make any comment on that, and the moment is so absurd that Light has to smother his laughter behind his hand in order to remain hidden.

 

“Ryuga, may I introduce Miss Sayu Yagami,” L says, gesturing to Sayu, and Light can hear some of the reluctance he has in his voice. No doubt L feels no joy in being made to play matchmaker. “Sayu, this is Mr. Ryuga Hideki, whose parents run the Autumn Pass Theater Company.”

 

Sayu curtsies, smiling and asking, “How do you do, Mr. Hideki?”

 

When she rights herself again, Mr. Hideki bows with a smile of his own. “Please, Miss, call me Ryuga.”

 

They stare into each other’s eyes, and Sayu’s cheeks turn to a faint pink.

 

L clears his throat.

 

Mr. Hideki laughs self-consciously, and seems to cast about for something to say.

 

“I’m sixteen,” he blurts out. “My father says that when I am seventeen, I shall get my own horse.”

 

“Woooooow,” exclaims Sayu softly. “I turned fourteen last week. My parents gave me four oranges – they’re my favorite. And Light baked me a dozen slot cookies. But he said I couldn’t eat them all on that day.” She giggles. “Oh! Do you want to try one? He made more for the Match Celebration today.”

 

Mr. Hideki nods, smiling. “They sound marvelous. Lead the way, Miss Sayu.”

 

Light is dismayed to realize that Mr. Hideki is actually fairly handsome, and that Sayu will become completely infatuated with him between one slot cookie and the next.

 

They wander away, talking animatedly to each other.

 

L begins to follow them. But after a few mere steps, he turns around, looking right in Light’s direction.

 

They make eye contact, while Light is peeking out from around his tree. L must have known that Light was there for the last several minutes at least.

 

_That crafty fox!_

Light feels his eyes narrow and his mouth curves into a frown. L chuckles openly at this, and winks at him, before turning around again and making for the slot cookies.

 

Light wishes he could resist chasing after him.

 

* * *

 

Dinner is an affair in its own right…turkey and cornbread muffins and pear slices and endive salad…no one, neither Gentry nor lowborn, ends the meal without complimenting Mother and Father on their expertise.

 

“Is talent in the kitchen hereditary, Light?” L asks slyly, plucking another cornbread muffin from a nearby bowl. They have a small table to themselves, set in the middle of the field, with larger tables for the guests set around it.

 

Light smiles and tosses an endive leaf at him, realizing that the Match Celebration is nearly completed, and that it has been more enjoyable than he would have thought possible this morning.

 

The Gift Exchange is next.

 

The guests have taken to donning their coats and cloaks, shielding themselves from the chilly autumn winds. As Light looks out at them, he sees many large swaths of the most fashionable colors: reds and blacks and whites. They form a wide semicircle around the small table where Light’s wrapped wedding present lies, concealed in its blue gift box. There is a single roll of parchment next to it. It is tied with a red ribbon. Light finds his own name written on the ribbon, in L’s elegantly curling script. He and L stand in front of the table with the gifts, the afternoon sun at their backs.

 

“You first,” he murmurs, taking advantage of what little time he has - everyone is still shuffling around, trying to find places from which they can see clearest.

 

“No no, you must have the first honors,” L protests.

 

“L, honestly,” Light urges, gesturing to the table. “I insist.”

 

When everyone settles into their places, L looks back and forth from Light to the blue gift box. A small smile graces his lips, and his eyes are alight with something like playful mischief. Light has the sudden suspicion that L, for all his wealth and prestige, has not received many gifts in his life.

He takes the blue box and opens it with careful fingers. Light hides his fidgeting hands within the pockets of his suit coat.  

 

When L lifts the wooden espresso cup out of its box, he stares at it, blinking rapidly. The note that Light has tucked inside it flutters slightly in the wind, nearly being lifted itself and swept away, but L catches it nimbly before this happens. The crowd gives a clearer reaction than he does, cooing softly over the decorative detail of the carving, the quality of the wood. There is even some scattered applause. L does nothing but stare, then slowly unfolds the note and begins to read.

 

Light gulps.

_Dear L,_

_I hope you enjoy this…I am half-convinced that when you receive it, you shall turn to me and proclaim your sincere regret that you were born with a severe allergy to walnut. And I shall have at once made you deathly ill and ruined our Match Celebration. _

_With my highest hopes that these fears do not come to pass, I wish to tell you that I have carved this espresso cup for you with one aspiration: that I may convey to you my faith in our union._

_When first you Offered for me, I knew nothing of you. I knew nothing of your intelligence, your kindness, your fidelity. I knew not how your eyes shine when you are happy, or the particular curve of your mouth as you smile._

_I grew to know those things slowly, beginning with our first meeting at Willows (the memory of which I hope is called to your mind with this gift). And I was surprised to learn that you did smile at me. Shocked to learn that you continued to. And more and more, with greater and greater fear for my heart’s safety, I found myself smiling back. _

_But now, with the closeness we have grown to share between us, that fear has all but fallen away. It has become a minor accompaniment to something far grander: the happiness I feel in sharing your company. I have given this happiness the major role. The melody._

_I cannot now imagine my life without you in it. There could be no other Suitor for me but you._

_Yours,_

_Light_

 

When he is finished reading, L turns to Light and stares at him instead, cradling both the note and the cup in his hands. Light sees that they are trembling slightly.

 

Light can bear his silence for only a few moments more.

 

“Do you…what do you…do you like it? Them?” he asks.

 

“Light…” L murmurs, looking to the gifts in his hands like they are treasures. “I love them both. You are the brightest…the finest…the dearest Match a man could wish for.”

 

Light ducks his head, feeling two spots of heat bloom onto his cheeks. He is indescribably pleased.

 

L tucks the note into his breast pocket, and places the espresso cup carefully into its box again. He takes Light’s hand in his.

 

“Your turn, Mr. Lawliet-to-be,” he says, smiling.

 

Light squeezes his hand in answer, then reaches for the scroll of parchment.

 

“I do hope there is something more than just paper in there!” Mr. Akashi calls out from his place in the crowd. Several people laugh.

 

Light can neither join in their laughter nor fully be present for his guests. His heart is like a prizefighter in his chest. It requires a good deal more brainpower than it should for him untie the red ribbon and unroll the parchment to see what is inside.

 

There are words printed there, in heavy, official-looking red type. Light reads them three times over. Afterward, he cannot seem to make his mouth move, or even draw breath.

 

“Well? What is it??” calls out a voice, and Light looks up to see Sayu standing on her tiptoes, staring at he and L impatiently.

 

The crowd around them bursts into more laughter. Light hears small murmurs from them, too, which sound like agreement with Sayu’s sentiments.

 

Light remains silent, looking down again at the parchment in his hands. He can only stand there, stunned, holding open the curling scrolls at either end. He still cannot believe it. He feels numb with shock. He fears he is imminently close to embarrassing himself.

 

And sure enough, an instant later, he finds himself throwing his arms around L’s shoulders, pulling him close. The parchment crinkles a bit in his hands, where it is mashed against L’s back. Light normally cannot stomach making this kind of display. But here…right here, right now…on this occasion…for this one man…he will make an exception.

 

“You…I…you foolish, _foolish_ creature,” he whispers.

 

He feels L’s arms close around his waist, feels the curve of L’s smile against his neck. 

 

“I did hope you’d like it,” L says, softly.

 

Light blinks back the stinging in his eyes. “I don’t know how I am to thank you.”

 

He pulls back and looks for his parents. After scanning several faces in the crowd, he finds them standing near to Sayu. Father’s arm is around Mother’s shoulders, and they both look at him with happy, expectant faces.

 

“I…” Light begins, and has to stop to clear his throat. He laughs a bit. It’s so absurdly extravagant. Absurdly wonderful. “He got us a _house_.”

 

“ _Another_ one??” cry Matsuda and Misa together.

 

“A smaller one,” Light explains. He looks to the parchment again, marveling at the words yet another time. “A cottage. In Golden Apple.”

 

_The Governorship of the Incorporated Lands of Golden Apple_

_Does Issue This Registered Claim and Deed of Ownership_

_Regarding the Cottage and Surrounding Territory_

_That was Heretofore Known as Whitecastle Cottage_

_To the Joint Parties_

_L Lawliet and Light Yagami_

_Which Shall Be Known Forevermore_

_As the ‘Cottage of Keeping’_

_On this day, May the 16 th, 1876, _

_With all the Duties and Privileges Required Therein._

The deed is marked May the 16th \- less than one month after he and L shared the garden dance there.

 

Light will not shed a tear amongst all these people. He won’t. No matter how astoundingly perfect his Suitor may be.

 

Misa gasps. “We’re going to be neighbors!”

 

“Whoa, Light…that’s incredible!” Matsuda shouts.

 

“It’s so _cool_!” Sayu exclaims, smiling from ear-to-ear. Mother wipes the corner of her eye with a handkerchief. Father comes forward, parting those in front of him easily. He shakes L’s hand, clapping him on the shoulder and nodding in a way that makes his approval as well as his gratitude clear. Father has never been a man of many words, but he has never had difficulty expressing himself either.

L, for his part, seems almost shy at the attention. He bows his head just ever so slightly, smiling quietly and not meeting Father’s eyes.

 

Light has never been the impulsive sort. He has never been prone to making split-second decisions, or giving in to the flights of romantic fantasy that sometimes enter his mind. But he _has_ already done so once today…and would doing so once more really be so dreadful?

 

 _Just do it,_ he thinks. _Leap, as he would leap for you._

He looks at L and lifts their joined hands. L’s eyes widen with curiosity, and they widen further when Light continues lifting, until his lips are brushing the backs of L’s knuckles.

 

And though the guests erupt into applause, Light cannot pay them much mind.

 

L’s smile has grown even wider.

 

* * *

 

Despite all the people who have arrived for their Match Celebration, L and Light manage to carve out a few small moments for themselves. When the band starts off a rendition of one Autumn Pass’s most popular dancing melodies, everyone floods the middle of the field and partners up, eager to have their elegance or their rhythm (or both) complimented. L and Light take advantage of their distraction, and sneak to one corner of the field.

 

“Dear Light,” L begins. His gaze flits back and forth between Light’s eyes and his mouth. “I must confess to possessing an ulterior motive for gifting you with the cottage. The Cottage of Keeping…I do hope you approve of the name. I couldn’t very well ask your opinion…and I’ve never in my life named a cottage before.”

 

“It is a lovely name, L,” Light assures him.

 

“Thank you. But, as I said, I did have an ulterior motive. A rather salacious one.”

 

“Oh? And what would that be?” asks Light, reaching out and running the tip of one finger along the brim of L’s hat.

 

L smiles, and his wide eyes narrow. “That I had hoped – do hope – that we might spend our Concealment there.”

 

Light’s first instinct is to gasp, because his mind is instantly flooded with images of he and L tangled together in a quiet, bright, charming little Golden Apple cottage. He controls himself.

 

“You see, it isn’t as though I would not find the manor pleasing for the occasion. It is only that I wished for us to spend the time someplace unusual…distinctive. Someplace we would not ordinarily be. And an inn seemed so….impermanent,” L explains. “This way…in future, we might visit from time to time, and relive, and…remember.”

 

Something like a squeezing warmth, so strong that it is almost painful, takes hold of Light’s chest and won’t release.

 

“Do you…do you like the idea?” asks L. He takes Light’s hand in his, kissing the back of it with lips like roses. “I am well aware that I am not the only party here, and that making decisions by consulting myself and myself alone should no longer be my practice, and if some aspect of the arrangement does not sit well within you, why…why, we should hasten to alter it to something more fitting.”

 

Light takes control of himself, or at least enough control that he may give his heart a voice.

 

He looks at the grass beneath his feet, taking a quick, bracing breath. “L…” He meets L’s black eyes. “L, it is positively the most romantic thing I have ever heard in my entire life.”

 

L smiles, looking quite relieved indeed. “Truly? You like it, then?”

 

“I love it. I have never felt so fortunate to be your Match, and that is saying something, since I usually view it as some sort of wonder.”

 

L smiles wider, shakes his head as if he cannot believe what he is hearing, and takes a step closer to Light. Then, abruptly, he mutters, “damn.”

 

Light blinks. “L?”

 

“My apologies,” L grumbles, looking back over his shoulder at the numerous guests mingled on the field. “Would that we were in my carriage, and not someplace quite so…public.”

 

Light chuckles, and the sound comes out smoky. He realizes that his hand has fallen to one of the lapels of L’s coat, and that he is fingering the material absently. “I have fond memories of that carriage, you know.”

 

“As do I,” says L quietly. His eyes fall to Light’s hand, watching the course it takes. “Though…if I were to be wholly honest…and if it were not a gross impropriety to say so…I would tell you that I should prefer someplace a bit more spacious. The better to make more memories with you.”

 

With great effort, Light draws breath, shaking his head ruefully. It is easier for him to speak his next words if he looks at L’s throat, or his broad shoulders, than into his eyes. “You have called me dangerous, L, on more than one occasion. But it is you who deserves that title. You shall embarrass me, and in front of all these people, no less.”

 

“Oh, but tell me not what power I have over your body, Light Yagami,” L tells him. His voice is low, and quiet, but Light can hear the aching groan in it all the same. He covers Light’s hand with his own and squeezes it tightly. “Else you shall find that you are not the only one made embarrassed here today.”

 

Light looks up, letting himself meet L’s eyes at last. L looks down at him, eyes wide. Their joined hands lay cradled between their chests. The sounds of all the guests, the music, the merrymaking…they fall quiet and defeated, slaughtered by the harsh pounding of blood racing through two hearts.

 

* * *

 

“I hope everyone has left some space for dessert!” Mother calls, as she gestures everyone into the house. Those in the front crowd their way into the small sitting room, while the rest spill out into the kitchen and foyer. The guests crowd around Mother – for once, ignoring L and Light – in favor of getting their first glance at the famed sweet.

 

Father brings it in, balancing a side table carefully in his outstretched arms. The cake rests atop it.

 

Mother has truly outdone herself. The cake is magnificent. Light almost regrets that he dislikes the taste of cherries. It is three layers tall, large enough to cover the entire tabletop, and covered with thick, white icing. There are sugared cherries in a red glaze draped all over the top, some of them dripping down the sides.

 

L, and the others present, waste no time in digging into it. Soon, the sounds of “mmms” and “aaahhs” are heard all around, and Mother is being asked over and over for her recipe.

 

“Ah,” she laughs, shaking her head kindly at Madam Oonishi. “But that’s an old family secret!”

 

“Ohhhh, surely just this once you can share it,” reasons Madam Oonishi. “I won’t tell a soul, after all.” She lowers her voice. “I’ll even throw in a dress for you – custom tailoring and all!”

 

“You drive quite a bargain, Madam,” Mother replies gracefully. “But I’m afraid my ancestors would be turning over in their graves, should I agree to it.”

 

“Ah well,” Madam Oonishi concedes. “I shall have to resign myself to this one taste, then, I suppose. Though I do hope you shall make another for the wedding!”

 

“Certainly,” Mother says. “In fact, I - ”

 

But what she was to say next is forever lost, drowned out by the sound of a loud thump followed by an earsplitting scream.

 

L’s plate, and the rest of his cherry cherry cake, fall to the ground with a clatter. He runs in the direction of the scream, toward the foyer, and Light can do nothing but follow.

 

They find several guests crowded around someone on the floor. They part when L and Light rush forward.

 

Light doesn’t know what he expected, but it surely wasn’t this.

 

Mistress Shikibu lies on the floor, clearly unconscious.

 

She isn’t breathing. One of the orange roses from the bouquet L sent is in her open palm.

 

Light kneels at her side immediately, feeling L doing the same to his right. L lays a hand against the side of her neck, surely trying to detect some sign of life. Light cannot think.

 

L remains still for many moments, staring at him. With every passing second, his expression becomes more and more sorrowful.

 

“Is she…?” Light hears Sayu say, voice small and scared. “Oh gods…”

 

“My stars…is that woman…?” asks Mr. Hideki, standing by her side and sounding just as alarmed.

 

A Gentryman whose name Light cannot recall falls to his knees next to he and L. He shakes Mistress Shikibu’s shoulder, shouting for her to wake.

 

She gives no response. There is not even the twitch of a finger to betray any life within her.

 

Light cannot make himself do anything purposeful. The world grinds to a halt around him.

 

To think that all this time, Light never truly grasped the immediacy of death. The visceral pull of a life from a body: one moment animated by the spirit, and the next, simply emptied of it. How could it be that something previously living was now simply…not? While the physical entirety of the living form remained? How could it be that one’s essential personhood could cease to exist?

 

Especially, _especially_ , someone full of as much life as Mistress Shikibu was. How was it that one of the few people on this earth whom Light respected…one of the few he could honestly claim to _like_ …could simply be…could simply be…

 

There had to be a soul. There had to be something eternal within man that gave him wisdom, courage, charity, and love.

 

It was ideas like these that most made him question his agnosticism. Or rather, that made his mind swing farthest to one end of the pendulum - the end toward believing.

 

But, just as quickly, Light finds that pendulum swinging back again. For the end of this life was not a natural end. It could not have been. It had been _taken_. That much was certain. A healthy woman in the prime of life does not simply die suddenly, at a party, of natural causes.

 

And what greater evil could man know but that?

 

How could Light believe in a benevolent, omnipotent force, when he was faced with something as unjust as this?

 

A voice that Light does not recognize calls out, “Look! It must have been the flower that killed her!”

 

Everyone save L and Light jump backward immediately at this. They stare with wide eyes at the rose in Mistress Shikibu’s hand.

 

“Impossible,” Light mutters, mind fighting hard to make any sense that he can out of the horror in front of him. “L sent those.”

 

But rather than making order out of the chaos around them, these words have the opposite effect: whispers immediately break out in the crowd. Light hears them for what they are: conclusions that it must have been L himself who took Mistress Shikibu’s life.

 

Father shouts, “Everyone, hold! I won’t hear such accusations leveled against my son’s Suitor!”

 

But L pays no mind to the rapidly escalating tension. He is…he is doing something Light can neither recognize nor puzzle out.   

 

Crouching over Mistress Shikibu’s stone-still body, L’s hands are folded on top of each other and he is…pressing?...on her chest. Over and over and over, without pause.

 

“L…L, what on earth are you…” Light whispers urgently, laying a hand on his shoulder. He is acutely aware of the horrified stares surrounding them both.

 

“Not…now…” L pants. He continues in his bizarre pressing, clearly exhausting himself with the effort. Light pulls away.

 

His mind can make no sense of any of this. There is no rhyme or reason to the world in which they live.

 

Every second passes like an eternity is contained within. Mother, Father, Sayu, the crowd of guests…everyone watches in silence. The shock and judgment and dismay lay thick and oppressive around L’s bizarre tableau.

 

It only gets worse when L tilts Mistress Shikibu’s jaw up, toward himself, and seals his lips over hers.

 

Light freezes. A fierce cold washes over him all at once.

 

Distantly, he hears Father shout, “Mr. Lawliet!”

 

L exhales into the body’s mouth, and Light can only stare, as if he watching from some removed place, outside his body, as Mistress Shikibu’s chest rises and then falls.

 

Hysterically, and with little attention spared for the terrible dive his stomach is making, Light thinks, _It is almost as if she breathes again…_

 

L pulls away, restarting his continuous pressing on the body’s chest, right where her heart would lie.

 

“Pray, Master Yagami, patience…L is trying to save her,” comes Mr. Wammy’s voice. Light hears it from one corner of the kitchen, growing closer and closer. “If her heart will not beat, someone must make it beat for her. If she will not breathe, someone must breathe for her.”

 

Several guests move aside as Mr. Wammy himself comes forward, watching the scene with sad eyes. “Until she will again. If she will. Pray, someone fetch Dr. Kuroki!”

 

Light sees Sayu race away at once. The tears on her cheeks glitter like jewels.

 

“What on earth…what sorcery is this?” calls out a male voice among the guests. “There is no bringing back someone from the dead!”

 

“It is no sorcery,” Mr. Wammy calls back, suddenly sounding every inch the authority that society considers him to be. “It is but physics and biology. If you must argue for the existence of sorcery, do send up a prayer that sorcery may save this woman!”

 

And as if these were exactly the words that the universe needed spoken, the body of Mistress Shikibu convulses once, twice, with a great hacking cough. Her eyes fly open, staring at the ceiling above, huge and stunned and wracked with fright.

 

L sits back on his heels, panting like he has just raced around the perimeter of his mansion thrice. With an enormous sigh, he swipes his feathered hat off his head and runs the back of his hand across his forehead before replacing it.

 

Light feels all the breath in his lungs leave him at once. Instinctively, without any conscious decision-making, he thanks whatever forces responsible for returning Mistress Shikibu’s spirit to her. He cannot comprehend her return to life…cannot fathom how L has brought forth this…this…utter _miracle_.

 

And, all at once, he realizes that there is no time for rejoicing, no time for puzzling out what has happened. There is almost certainly a murderer in their midst.

 

Light will not let them escape. He will catch whatever foul demon has done this. He will see justice done.

 

“Godmother,” Light urges, taking her hand. “can you hear me?”

 

As if by great effort, Mistress Shikibu turns to him. Light can see his image come to focus in her eyes. Slowly, she nods.

 

“Dear gods in heaven,” Light hears Mother whisper.

 

“A miracle,” mutter many of the guests. A handful fall to their knees and assume prostrated position. They pray aloud, fervent and clear.

 

Mistress Shikibu makes as if to sit up but winces harshly and lays a hand against her right side.

 

L lays a hand on her shoulder, easing her backward again.

 

“You mustn’t, ma’am,” he tells her. “You likely have broken ribs.”

 

She looks at L with a dazed, awed expression. “My stars….how did I…what…”

 

“Godmother,” Light says again. “Please, we haven’t much time. You fell…you…we all thought…” He doesn’t have the words to tell her what they all thought, and so abandons the attempt. “We need you to explain what happened. What were you doing before you collapsed? What happened right before you fell?”

 

“I was…I was…” she says, looking around rapidly, probably searching for the same explanations and clues that Light himself craves. “I was watching the Gift Exchange…I remember that. And then everyone followed Mistress Yagami to the dessert table…I remember that lovely cherry cherry cake...I had a slice myself. And I was talking to the old policehands…Ide…Aizawa…”

 

“Did you approach the bouquet of roses? The one just there?” L asks urgently, indicating the vase just a few feet away. It stands innocently on its stool, as beautiful as ever.

 

“Well…yes, as a matter fact…how did you - ?”

 

Light meets L’s eyes, sharing with him a moment of dark understanding.

 

…But it doesn’t make _sense_.

 

“It’s impossible,” Light tells him. “Those flowers have been there for days. I’ve smelled them myself. Mother too. Sayu. There’s no way they could have…unless…”

 

L nods, looking grim. “It must have been. Some sort of poison. Something easily inhaled. It fits. It _fits_. It must have been done recently.”

 

“In which case…” Light murmurs.

_In which case, the murderer is here._

 

As one, L and Light look up, staring at all the guests around them. Searching. All that they need is a sign…a signal…any small tell of guilt or ill intent. Even someone that _seems_ as though they could have knowledge of the attempt on Mistress Shikibu’s life.

 

In the end, they don’t search for long.

 

They don’t have to.

 

One of the guests, someone in a red cloak, springs from the group and runs headlong for the back door. They run like lighting. There is only just enough time for Light to make a determination as to their gender: female. He cannot make any progress whatsoever in identifying her beyond that.

 

But there is no question of letting her get away. With no heed for manners or propriety, Light leaps after her, pushing people out of his way, Gentryman and lowborn alike.

 

 _Faster…FASTER!_ he tells himself.

 

Without a word between them, L is at his side.

 

Light hears Father call for them to come back, hears Mother shout that it’s too dangerous, but he cannot heed them. He can’t obey.

 

He won’t.

 

Hurling the back door open with all his strength, Light sees the woman jump onto the back of a petite grey gelding and spur it forward.

 

L catches up to him a moment later, seeing just what Light does. He raises two fingers to his mouth and makes a shockingly loud, piercing whistle.

 

Within seconds, Light sees Athena come galloping around the corner of his house. 

 

She comes to a stop in front of L, who immediately sets his foot into the stirrup and swings a leg over her.

 

When Light makes to do the same, L protests.

 

“Light, you need to - ”

 

“Oh, _damn that_ ,” Light interrupts fiercely, climbing onto Athena’s back and settling into the saddle behind L. “I’m coming. Now let’s go. She’s getting away.”

 

L huffs angrily, looking from Light to the retreating red cloak and back again. His lips purse and for a moment he seems to consider arguing the point. But then he takes up Athena’s reins.

 

“Hold tight to me,” he says shortly.

 

Light has only just enough time to wrap his arms around L’s waist before Athena takes off at a breakneck gallop.

 

Outside, it is going dark with evening. They will have the benefit of sunlight for but a short while more. The harsh autumn winds whip around them, but otherwise, the chase is oddly silent. Light keeps his eyes squarely trained ahead. He is wholly dedicated to the task before him.

 

_Don’t lose sight of her. Don’t lose sight of her. Watch._

 

They will catch her. They must.

 

The woman takes a ruthless, winding path. Light reasons that she must have escaped on the back of her own horse, as she and the beast seem to have no need of shouted commands. When they leave the lines of Mother and Father’s lands, they still weave together seamlessly, even through the heavy underbrush and rocky terrain. And her horse makes turns and twists so sudden that an unfamiliar rider would have been thrown off long ago.

 

But Athena is fast, and powerful. She keeps pace and shows no sign of fatigue.

 

“Aye, girl, follow them,” L says quietly to her.

 

There is a cluster of old trees ahead, branches winding thickly around each other, leaves covered by clumps of thick moss.

 

The perfect place to lose a pursuer, and the woman rides hard for it.

 

“L!” Light shouts anxiously. “She’s - ”

 

“Yes, I see!” L shouts back. He digs his heels into Athena’s sides, and she gallops that much faster, but it is not enough.

 

The gelding, and its red-cloaked rider, disappear into the woods. When they reach the edge of the clearing, they see that the opening the woman exploited is much too small for Athena and two adult men as riders.

 

L wheels Athena round, racing around the clearing, keeping close to the edges. Light searches the trees as they go, praying for any sight of red or grey, but the foliage is too thick. He sees nothing.

 

They travel what must surely be half the circumference of the wood. A huge, abandoned milking barn is here on the other side. It hasn’t been in operation for years, deemed unfit for habitation by man or beast, ever since its owner was found dead inside. He had been crushed under the weight of part of its collapsing roof.

 

Athena slows to a trot, pacing back and forth as L and Light wait for any sign of their prey. For long minutes, they scan the woods, and the surrounding fields. Light feels every painful second as a knife to his side.

 

“She must come out at some time,” L says, in a biting whisper. “We will establish a perimeter…the policehands will be arriving soon. They will have come after us. Your father is likely among them. If they arrive soon enough, we may space them at even interval around the wood. She cannot escape so many eyes at once. And if needs be, we can send in the dogs…”

 

Light gives voice to a thought that is entirely pessimistic and, unhelpfully, true: “That is if we were fast enough to keep her inside. If we were not…”

 

Suddenly, Light spots the corner of a woman’s red cloak, just as it disappears behind the barn’s closing door. She is trying to escape them not with speed but with concealment. She is concealing herself in a hiding place she supposes they will never suspect. But Light has seen her. Light knows.

 

“There!” Light shouts, pointing over L’s shoulder at the old barn. “She’s there!”

 

L doesn’t question him. He pulls Athena’s reins sharply to the left and digs his heels into the great horse’s sides, bending low over her neck. Light does the same, holding tight to L’s waist and pressing himself tightly to L’s back. Athena positively _flies_. L’s hat sails off of his head as they go. He pays it no mind.

 

When they reach the barn, L and Light leap as one from her back. They run with all the speed they can muster after that flash of red. Light trusts that Athena will wait for them nearby, and that she is intelligent enough to whinny and alert them to any attempts at thievery.  

 

“Light, you must go to - ”

 

“The other way out, yes, I know!” Light shouts, veering away from L and racing to the other end of the barn. “We start at the outer edges and work our way in!”

 

“Yes!” L shouts back. “Call out to me if it is you that finds her, and I shall do the same if it is me!”

 

* * *

 

In the end, it is Light who discovers her. Hidden in the loft of the barn, devoid of her red cloak, is a woman crouching behind the old refuse of a dairy trade: empty milk silos of rusted metal, hay bales long gone acrid with mold, long rows of cow harnesses and branding irons.

 

It is Kiyomi. Light cannot count himself surprised.

 

When she sees him, she does not say what Light expects. She doesn’t beg for forgiveness, or protest her guilt, or feign ignorance. She doesn’t even try to run again. Instead…

 

“Light, you have an opportunity here. If you keep quiet, I shall be forever in your debt. You could have an indentured servant in me. Think of the possibilities. What can there be gained by - ”

 

Light does not bother with listening to the rest of her offer. Instead, he bends his knees and assumes a ready position, fully preparing for a physical fight. She is a woman, and weaker than he, but it will not do to rest all of his fate on that fact.

 

“L!” Light calls out grimly. “I have her…she is here. The loft.” His voice echoes hollowly off the wooden barn walls.

 

Moments later, Light hears L ascending the rickety stairs to the loft. When he arrives, his expression is harsh and hard, like iron. He strides directly forward, reaching Kiyomi in four paces.

 

“We know that it was you. By running, you have all but confessed. How did you do it?” he asks.

 

From her place on the loft floor, Kiyomi stares at him and remains resolutely silent.

 

“Speak!” L demands.

 

“The only points I wish to make are my sincere devotion to the gods, and my ardent hope that my example might lead others to do their will, as I have,” says Kiyomi.

 

“You make arguments too foolish to be challenged,” L tells her. “I can neither understand nor care about your delusions, grand though they undoubtedly are. Tell me _how_ you did it!”

 

Kiyomi makes no answer.

 

“If you won’t talk, I will use whatever means necessary to get it out of you,” he says. He stares Kiyomi down, jaw set.

 

Her dark hair curls about her face, and her lips – red as blood – remain tightly sealed.

 

“Do not test me, Miss,” L says, with clenched teeth.

 

“I should like to remain silent, until such time as a barrister-at-law has advised me,” says Kiyomi.

 

She looks at L squarely in the eye, chin raised proudly. But Light can see that her fingers are trembling. No doubt L sees it too.

 

“I happen to be a licensed barrister in two countries. One of those is this one. And as I am familiar with the particulars of your situation, I feel very confident in my ability to advise you soundly,” he says. He crouches down to Kiyomi’s level. “Speak, and speak true, with the knowledge that doing so will spare innocent lives and with the hope that your sentence may thus be reduced.”

 

Kiyomi turns her face away, looking at the wall to her right. She says nothing in reply.

 

“You would be wise to remember that refusing to do so will result in your immediate and indefinite incarceration. You will have no visitors and no contact with the world outside your small prison. And if you continue to maintain this stubborn silence, you will suffer more than isolation.”

 

Coldly, without looking at him, Kiyomi says, “There is no punishment you can deliver that will sway me. You are a man - only dirt and earth – but the rewards awaiting the followers of the gods are greater than any earthly consequence.”

 

L’s hands clench into tight fists. His eyes blaze with fury. In a flash, Light can see him regain his mastery over himself, and the fury becomes a chained frustration. He stands and spins on his heel.

 

As he strides away on heated footsteps, Light hears him mutter, “Have it your way, then.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Murasaki Shikibu was a Japanese author who wrote The Tale of Genji between the years 1000 and 1012. She is widely believed to be the world’s very first novelist. 
> 
> I would love to hear your reactions to this chapter! I do hope I did justice to the Match Celebration. I feel like it’s been built up over all these chapters...maybe the only way I could go was down. lol What did you think of Sayu and Ryuga Hideki? Matsuda and Misa? And did Kiyomi’s little stunt surprise anyone? 
> 
> BC3, once again, your inspired ideas for this chapter helped me through! All my love. <3
> 
> And thank you to all of the AMAZING support this fic has received. Everyone’s comments, kudos, tumblr messages, reviews, follows…everything is so meaningful and so wonderful for an author to receive. I can’t express my gratitude enough.
> 
> I don’t have an estimate for when the next chapter will be out…I’ll be traveling early next month, and in July as well, but please be assured that this fic will NEVER be abandoned. I’ll see it through to the end. :)
> 
> Until next time, 
> 
> Magic


	17. Chapter Seventeen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For those of you who enjoy listening to ambient music while you read fic, I wrote much of this chapter by the sound of Vivaldi’s Four Seasons. All four pieces are gorgeous, of course, but a lot of the action of the chapter is best suited to Summer, I think.
> 
> Later in the chapter, I find Libertango and Fear Tango (both by Yo-Yo Ma and Astor Piazzolla) particularly fitting.

The policehands arrive promptly, most likely having followed L and Light nearly from the outset. Athena was swift in their chase, and they made no attempt to take routes that would hide her tracks, so the policehands likely had her hoof-prints to follow as well.

 

“Light?” calls out a male voice from below. “Mr. Lawliet?”

 

“We have her here!” Light calls back. “In the loft!”

 

He and L hear heavy footsteps on the floorboards, then several pairs of feet ascending the rickety stairs.

 

It is Father, along with all of his men from the Academy - those who were nearby, attending the Match Celebration. It seems they come prepared for anything, even when off of duty: several of the men are holding nightsticks and pistols. Some hold lit torches, which throw light and rough, jagged shadows along the walls of the barn.

 

“They say you were the one who sent those flowers!” says one of the policehands, a young man Light doesn’t recognize. He levels an accusing finger in L’s direction. “And that woman was clutching one when she…when she collapsed…”

 

He trails off, apparently losing his nerve.

 

“Oh, come off it, Yoshi,” says another policehand. His name is Ide, and Light has known him to work with Father since Light was young enough to still be in Schoolhouse. “Are you really saying he tried to kill the lady, then turned right around and saved her? And then somebody _else_ flees the scene, looking ten kinds of guilty, but that person hasn’t done anything?”

 

“Well…” says Yoshi, scrubbing the toe of his boot against the loft floor. “I guess it’s a bit…”

 

“It’s a bit stupid, is what it is,” says another of the men. “Now who do we have here?”

 

He gestures toward Kiyomi, sitting coiled and defiant, like a cobra trapped inside a particularly small basket.

 

Ide pulls a pair of irons from his trousers and claps them onto Kiyomi’s wrists. They only barely keep her restrained, as her wrists are much smaller than those the irons were fashioned for: grown men. She doesn’t protest, clearly expecting this turn of events, but another policehand gags her with a handkerchief anyway. 

 

“Her name is Kiyomi Takada,” Light says coldly, thinking of how very much he would like to punish her personally for what she has attempted this night.

 

“Heeeyyyy….I know that girl, I do,” says the man who asked after her. “She’s always helping around the Church! What’s a girl like that doing in a place like this…after….after…”

 

He looks upon her with wide, disbelieving eyes.

 

“That isn’t for us to decide, Daijo,” Ide says, with deliberate calm. “I’m sure the magistrates will be more than happy to determine exactly how she came to the decisions she did, and punish her soundly for them.”

 

“Well done, Mr. Lawliet, if you don’t mind me saying,” Ide says next, turning to L and giving him a nod. “And well done you, Light,” he adds, nodding to him as well. “You really were there right when we needed you to be. Without the two of you, we might have had a wild goose chase on our hands, sure enough.”

 

Other policehands echo Ide’s sentiments, and Light finds himself the recipient of many grateful nods and bows.

 

It feels strange, to be complimented on something besides his hard work in a field, or his looks, or his advantageous Match. It feels strange to have done something that benefits more people than his immediate family, or his future husband.

 

Though he wishes it had happened under happier circumstances, Light cannot deny how good it feels, despite the strangeness. It may never last - _can’t_ last - but for the time being, he enjoys being seen as someone who has more to give than planting and harvesting. He enjoys thinking that he has more to do in this world than warm someone’s bed.

 

“In the meantime, what are we to do with the girl?” asks Ukita, another policehand that Light has known for years, and one of Father’s friends. “We need instructions from the boss.”

 

As if summoned by his words, there comes the sound of galloping hooves outside the barn, and a pony’s whinny. Then, there are more footsteps on the stairs, and a young man emerges on the loft. He carries the blue cloth bag of a postman.

 

“I have a letter here, for Academy policehands, bearing the seal of one Sargent Wakahisa,” says the courier, holding out a plain brown envelope. “It was to be delivered with all urgency. Highest priority.”

 

One of the policehands – Aizawa – takes the envelope gruffly, examining it with a skeptic’s eyes and then nodding.

 

“It’s Wakahisa’s seal, true enough,” he says. “I don’t know how he gets instructions out so quickly when he wasn’t even _there_ , though. Isn’t that suspicious to anyone?”

 

Ukita frowns thoughtfully, looking at the envelope over Aizawa’s shoulder.

 

“You know…now that you mention it, the same thing happened at the Robertson case,” he says. “Do you remember? The shots had only just been fired, but somehow we got instructions only minutes later.”

 

“I think we can all agree that that isn’t truly the most pressing matter at hand,” says L shortly. “At this precise moment.”

 

Light watches him, the rigid line of his shoulders and the pinched sort of look about his lips, and he begins to feel a prickling in his mind…like an itch, or the feeling of a small pebble irritating him inside his shoe.

 

He recalls Father’s numerous praises of Sargent Wakahisa’s leadership at the Academy, his diligence in cases, his intelligence…” _Sargent Wakahisa is never wrong_ ” Father had once said. Light had always found it curious that one man could _never_ be wrong. Light would sometimes suspect that Sargent Wakahisa was actually a group of individuals, and not a single man at all, and that the group stayed away from scenes of crime to hide their true nature. Maybe they were appointed by the Aristocracy to ensure order in the township. Maybe they were in league with organized criminals themselves and _that’s_ how they always seemed to be correct – while they hid larger, more heinous acts from the policehands, and from the public.

 

But now, Light wonders if in fact Sargent Wakahisa actually _is_ a single man.

 

Or…rather…a Matched man.

 

Father goes over to Aizawa, examining the letter for himself.

 

“Go on,” he says. “L is right. We need our orders.”

 

Aizawa’s lips do not set themselves into a pleasant expression, but he tears open the envelope nonetheless, grumbling indistinctly. He devotes himself to reading the letter, which takes no small amount of time. Policehands are not known for their vast literary abilities.

 

“What are your Sargent’s instructions, then?” L continues, looking away from Aizawa to the rest of the policehands. “What are we to do with this…woman?”

 

Aizawa’s eyes narrow at L, and he is very bold indeed when replies, “ _We_ – meaning members of the _Academy_ \- are to escort her to the holding cells, where she will await trial for the events witnessed here today. She is to be kept alone, without contacting anyone who is not strictly involved in her imprisonment and employed by the Academy. She is to be given adequate food and drink for life, nothing more or less than that. Her family may be informed only of her involvement with an ongoing investigation, and their strict cooperation must be maintained. If they attempt to aid her in her escape, or combat the Academy in any way, they too will be imprisoned for obstruction of justice. Everyone present here and at the Match Celebration is to record their name and place of residence on a ledger, so that authorities may contact them in future, to bear witness at trial. The flowers implicated in the attempt on Mistress Shikibu’s life are to be kept in Academy custody, sealed away, and examined by an apothecary as soon as possible.”

 

It is with very little fanfare, then, that Kiyomi Takada is lifted up and carried off by the policehands. From the open barn window to his right, Light watches her being restrained further, and taken away on horseback, one of many horses in the Academy caravan.

 

He and L do not tarry in finding their way back to Athena, and travelling back to Light’s home. They find Mother and Sayu there, along with their bewildered, frightened guests.

 

L explains the situation with only the most necessary of details. He does well: appearing calm, controlled, and every inch the Gentryman in charge, despite the outrageousness of the situation.

 

Together, he and Light thank everyone for the attendance, assist those who are illiterate in signing their names and addresses onto a ledger, and, as they bid the guests goodnight, politely request that they hold their tongues until the investigation has run its course.

 

….Light knows that word of what happened this evening will have spread through town like a rash by morning.

 

* * *

 

Light spends the following days in a state of near-panic, jumping at the slightest opportunity for news of the investigation. Every day, when Father comes home, he tells Light that there is nothing new to report, sighing heavily, and Light wilts at having no further answers about the attempt on his godmother’s life.

 

When news does come, it is three days later, when L is visiting Light’s home for dinner.

 

Father waits until everyone has been served their food before speaking the words.

 

“There will not be a trial,” he says gravely. “It was announced this morning at the Academy. Not enough evidence.”

 

Light feels his hands and feet tingle with a sudden cold, harsh numbness.

 

“You cannot be serious,” he says quietly.

 

Father sighs. “I am afraid that I am, son.”

 

He sets down his cup of cider and his biscuit, as though he is far too weary to eat anything else. Mother and Sayu simply watch the proceedings with wide eyes.

 

“But she is a murderess!” Light says emphatically.

 

“The powers that be do not see it that way,” Father says. “They say there is not enough evidence. They say that she is a good student, an active participant in Church, and that she has a spotless record. Testimony of attempted wrongdoing is not enough to sway a magistrate without any hard evidence. We have no weapon. No motive. And, truly…we have no crime. Mistress Shikibu is alive and well.”

 

“Only by the grace of L’s rash action! Only by the work of his hands is she yet breathing! Father, this is outrageous! Surely you see that!”

 

“My opinion of the matter is not what counts, son. It is the opinion of those above us. You would do well to hold your tongue, and remember that,” says Father, looking grimly serious. His face settles into a set of stern lines. Light would not usually attempt to cross him. But this… _this_ …this he cannot abide.

 

“Hold my tongue? Words are all I have, Father,” he says bitterly. “Words. That is all. Words and words and words and no _action_. Are we to ignore this? Am I to simply _let go_ of the memory of a family member’s attempted murder?”

 

“You are to follow the law as it written, Light,” Father sighs. “You are to do as you’re told. I too am saddened by what could have happened to Mistress Shikibu but she is well now, and we must do our best to train our sights on that fact. Not might-have-beens.”

 

Light comes very close to shouting then. L touches two fingers to the back of his hand, hidden by the ruffled cuffs of their sleeves.

 

Light swallows, taking a deep breath before speaking again. “Father. I implore you to see reason. You saw her flee as well as I. Who must I speak to? To whom must I argue my case? I feel very strongly in this matter and I am quite sure that L does as well, and perhaps with his influence we can - ”

 

“When is the young woman to be released?” L asks, interrupting him.

 

Father hesitates, and by that small measure Light knows instantly what his next words are to be.

 

“…she is already out of policehands custody,” he says. “Her cell was opened this morning at dawn.”

 

Light feels this blow as a terrible setback. Not insurmountable, but a setback nonetheless. If they wish to bring Kiyomi Takada to trial, not only must they appeal to the Academy barristers, but also find her, as well.

 

And Light knows that if he were in Takada’s shoes, he would be taking the opportunity given to run far and hide well.

 

L, however, seems not to take the news with disappointment. There is a hopeful sort of gleam in his eyes when he says, “I see.”

 

Light is only one second away from turning his ire on L next, ready to launch a volley of objections to his reacting so _positively_ to such an _atrocity_ as this when L says:

 

“Master Yagami, would you mind terribly if I were to speak to Light out of doors? On my honor, I assure you that we shall be in full view of the window.”

 

Father nods, looking a bit curious as he says, “Very well.”

 

L stands and pulls Light’s chair out for him, and Light tells himself that he ought not be rash. Perhaps, using his identity as Sargent Wakahisa, L may yet have a plan for securing Kiyomi Takada’s trial. Perhaps that is why he seems so at ease. Perhaps he even has connections with some of the barristers…perhaps justice will be done more swiftly. Perhaps together they can do something about this utter mess.

 

But when L takes Light’s hand in his and leads him out the door and to the nearby front window, Light finds that L’s plan is not so much helpful as it is unlawful.

 

“You want to hold Kiyomi Takada prisoner _yourself_?” Light asks, aghast.

 

“Yes,” L answers, sounding nothing but eager that Light has apparently caught on so quickly. “It would be easily done, after we catch her again, and really, Light, how hard would that task be? I have eyes at strategic locations in town – as you well know – and once we obtain her whereabouts, myself and Grandfather can hold her capture without much fuss at all.”

 

“You want to hold a person prisoner _independently_.”

 

“It’s really no trouble,” L says dismissively.

 

Light jerks back, stunned at the tacit admission that this is something L just…seems to _do_. As a matter of course. That this would not be the first time he has acted as both detective and police force.

 

But before he can address these concerns, Light cannot move on from that last part of L’s brilliant little plan. 

 

“What on earth do you mean ‘myself and Grandfather?’ L…please, on all that’s holy, _please_ tell me you wouldn’t involve an elderly man in this scheme.”

 

“Well, Light, I don’t think that’s very kind,” says L, blinking in offended astonishment. “One’s age is no bearing on one’s competence, and Grandfather is an excellent marksman.”

 

Light almost chokes. “You’re planning to shoot Kiyomi Takada?!”

 

“Of course not!” L insists. “Only hold her at the point of a gun.”

 

Light’s jaw drops.

 

“Light, be sensible. How else are we to capture her and ensure her co-operation?”

 

“’Be sensible, Light,’ he says. Be sensible!” Light exclaims. “Do you know how many laws you would be breaking? Do you _care_ how many laws you would be breaking?”

“The law ought not be followed when it is against the moral interests of those bound to it,” says L flatly.

 

“Your plan goes against every notion of common decency yet written, as well as violating the rights that have been ordained by humanity itself!” says Light, outraged. “You yourself lent me the text on natural law and just philosophy which illustrate the point!”

 

“Just because something is written doesn’t make it true, Light, as you well know.”

 

“Are you arguing against the right of an individual to their liberty before they have been convicted of a crime, then? Are you arguing for search, seizure, and imprisonment without the law’s due process? What is there to separate you from the criminal population then?” demands Light.

 

He is shocked and appalled that these questions need even be asked of his Suitor, and he hopes that he is being made party to some ghastly sort of joke, and not partaking of a serious discussion at all.

 

“Oh, come now, Light, it isn’t as large as all that,” L argues with a sigh. “You and I both know Takada is guilty. We lack only the proof of her methods. We would put a greater number of lives at risk by leaving her to walk freely than we would be by imprisoning her.”

 

Light takes a step closer to L, nearly standing toe to toe with him, looking straight into his eyes.

 

“Just because you routinely impersonate a Sargent does not make you qualified to take your own prisoners!” he whispers fiercely.

 

L blinks widely, opening his mouth after a moment’s hesitation, and Light has no patience for whatever words he has planned to say.

 

“Oh yes…I know all about how it is you who is behind that façade of a person,” Light continues. “And I would never speak a word about it, not even now that I know what you are planning to do with Kiyomi. Never think me so lacking in loyalty that I will not keep your secrets. But you ought to consider the power you hold, and the resources you are entrusted with, and how best to use them. This is _not_ the best way, L.”

 

Satisfied that his point has been made, Light steps back, standing once again at a respectable distance.

 

“What would you have me do? Give her leave to attempt the same atrocity again?” L demands.

 

“I would have you follow our laws, and continue your investigation. You cannot control her actions – only your own.”

 

“It is within my control to stop her, and stop her I shall,” L says ruthlessly. “The township has shown little to no regard in human rights if they willingly allow an attempted murder to go unpunished. And even if this were not so, are your ideals truly worth the price of your godmother’s life? Do not pretend that upholding your values comes without a cost, Light.”

 

“You are misrepresenting,” says Light, shaking his head. “The town isn’t letting what she did go unpunished…they’re only saying there isn’t enough evidence to hold her in prison…not enough proof. If there were hard evidence, they would see her locked up for life, or hanged. So we get the proof. We find the -”

 

“Which will take _time_ , Light, do use your sense! It will take _time._ And during that time, Kiyomi Takada may strike again, and the next time, we may not be so lucky!”

 

“But the threat clearly lies _beyond_ just her, L, we both know it! She couldn’t have killed all those people alone, without a trace. She’s got help. She’s got an organization, or an organization has got _her._ The only way to secure Mistress Shikibu’s safety is to have a proper, _lawful_ trial, in which _all_ the evidence is revealed. So that we may find the _full_ extent of the threat. The only way to guarantee her safety – and everyone else’s – is to destroy the entire enterprise for which she works!”

 

L shakes his head irritably, turning away without a word. It seems as if he has too many arguments rising to the tip of his tongue, competing to be spoken, for him to give voice to any one of them.

 

“Don’t forget that I too have had my life targeted recently, L,” Light says, uncaring of whether or not this personal line of argument is an emotional plea more than a plea to reason. “I know that that event is connected, and connected closely, to this one. I would enjoy some genuine peace of mind about that fact. But I may only have it if the perpetrators _in their entirety_ are made to answer for their crimes!”

 

“You shall have that peace of mind,” L says firmly, looking over his shoulder at Light. “After Kiyomi Takada spills her secrets, I will uncover the extent of this conspiracy with greater haste. And a full trial will be held, laying bare the contemptible evil of their dealings. This is not a path _away_ from that future. It is a path toward it. A shortcut.”

 

“L…” Light begins, taking a deep breath. “This action is not befitting of a man of your character. I should think you would argue the opposite point, were we to find ourselves in different circumstances. I should think you would argue that one rat should be left alone and followed to its nest, rather than be killed whilst its stronger cousins run free. For that is where the greater number of lives at risk lies. If we do not uncover her motives and accomplices completely, we shall sacrifice the war to win a single battle.”

 

L stares at him for a moment, black gaze looking endless.

 

“Perhaps you are right,” L concedes, after several moments’ silence. “Perhaps I might argue the opposite position, at that, were it not for you.”

 

“Were it not for me?” asks Light.

 

“Yes. The louder part of me, in this moment, would very much like to secure some sort of victory, whether temporary or not, for the threat made against one of your loved ones. I am not easily dissuaded from retaliation once I feel it is due. _An eye for an eye._ You argue stridently and logically, but how am I to resist my own impulses, when it is your very involvement that spurs me to rash action? I am your Suitor, and I find that term to include within its definition the role of a protector. And I am not protecting you or your kin while that snake of a woman roams free.”

 

“I understand that you feel personally about this matter, and I thank you for that,” Light tells him. “Of course I feel personally about it too. But we must keep our heads in this fight, or we shall _lose_.”

 

L sighs, heavy and heartfelt. “Light, I have said that you argue stridently and logically, and that you do.”

 

“Thank you,” says Light, feeling somewhat flattered. “I knew that you would come to - ”

 

“But I cannot accept your position on the matter, nor yield to it and relinquish my own. I cannot allow Kiyomi Takada her freedom when it is within my power to take it from her.”

 

Light’s eyes narrow immediately. He tells himself to keep control, feeling it slip quickly and dangerously from his grip.

 

“If the authorities will not be called upon to do their jobs, I shall do it for them. For your own good, Light, and for the good of the town. If I extract from her the information we seek, many lives may be spared. She would not talk at her time of capture, but that does not mean she cannot be persuaded to do so in the future, especially under different circumstances. Every person has their point of pressure.”

 

“And you intend to find hers, is that it?” Light demands. “By force?”

 

“Ideally it won’t come to that. But I am prepared to do whatever is necessary,” says L.

 

“Then you deal a grave insult to your character,” Light tells him fiercely. “A character I previously thought beyond this sort of depravity.”

 

“Then may you henceforth know me better,” L snaps.

 

Light clenches his fists in an effort to refrain from making some sound of incoherent fury.

 

“What about her disappearing? The town will talk, you know they will. What about her family, for the gods’ sake?”

“She has no living relatives. No one to miss her, as far as I can tell,” says L. “The people in town will be easily dissuaded from searching for her once I let slip a story to the newspapers. Something about her fleeing Autumn Pass due to suspicions against her in this murder investigation. It will serve to keep public opinion firmly on our side.”

 

“Our _side_? Our side should be the side of what’s _right_ , not what is popular!”

 

“Often justice and popularity do not walk hand-in-hand.”

 

“ _L_ ,” Light grits out. “I _urge_ _you_ to reconsider.”

 

“My mind is well made up, Mr. Lawliet-to-be. You may not agree with my decisions but as my Match you are bound to honor them. I shall hear no further word on the subject.” 

 

“Oh!” Light says, with a cruel laughter. “You shall hear more from me, sir, so long as there is breath in my lungs to speak! So long as you deign to allow me the liberty you take so easily from Kiyomi Takada. Or are you prepared to clap me in irons as well, and gag me in a prison of your own making?”

 

“Light, be sensible,” L says, rolling his eyes. “You know that I would not - ”

 

“I may have known before! Forgive me if this exchange gives me doubt!”

 

“Then go on. Think me a villain for my concern for your safety. It will not sway me, even were you to call me the most wretched scoundrel that ever walked the earth. I will capture her, and interrogate her, and I will _thereby save you_!”

 

Light stares at L for several moments, shaking his head in mute disbelief.

 

“I shall play no part in this plan of yours,” he finally says. “Nor give you one ounce of my support. On your head be the consequences of this recklessness.”

 

Light feels cold, and numb, and outside himself somehow. Untrusting of his own reality.

 

“I am trying to keep you _safe_ , Light, you must see that,” L implores, watching Light with those huge black eyes of his, as though he is willing Light to agree.

 

“Believe me, sir, if I did not trust at least that much to be the truth I would not still be standing before you as I am. But only when we act with right judgment can we secure our future together as a safe one,” Light tells him, jaw set as if in stone.

 

L sighs again, and his shoulders slump very noticeably.

 

“You will not be swayed in this, I see,” he says.

 

“No,” Light says, turning away and moving toward the door. “Obstinacy is a trait we seem to share.”

 

L follows him back into the house.

 

When Mother and Father inquire as to the rift that is now clear between them, neither of them feels inclined to explain.

 

* * *

 

_Dear L,_

_I hope your course of action has proven itself a productive one. Have you made any progress, then?_

_Your Match,_

_Light_

 

* * *

 

_Dear Light,_

_I regret that my dealings have not yet borne fruit. I persevere._

_Your Suitor,_

_L_

* * *

_Dear L,_

_I see. Keep me apprised._

_For the gods’ sake, I hope you know what you’re doing._

_Your Match,_

_Light_

* * *

_Dear Light,_

_I hope that you are not so cross with me that you will refuse me a meeting. There is a meadow I know of which is very peaceful, seemingly, and may do us some good in bridging the divide which now stands between us._

_Your Suitor,_

_L_

* * *

_Dear L,_

_I would not refuse you a meeting. I desire this divide no more than you do, and wish it bridged quickly._

_Can you blame me though, in my small corner of the world, for hoping that your aims melded seamlessly into my own?_

_Your Match,_

_Light_

* * *

_Dear Light,_

_No, I cannot blame you. But I might remind you that – for the most part – our aims do align seamlessly. We both desire justice. It is only our application of the concept that leaves us…wanting._

_Your Suitor,_

_  
L_

* * *

_Dear L,_

_I suppose you speak the truth there. I shall endeavor to focus more on that which we have in common than that which we do not._

_Your Match,_

_Light_

* * *

_Dear Light,_

_Do I still hold your heart, then?_

_Yours, for as long as you are willing,_

_  
L_

* * *

 

_Dear (for yes, you are still dear to me) L,_

_Be you not so foolish. You are my Suitor, and my Match – not only in name but in spirit. Of course my feelings toward you have not altered._

_That does not mean that I must agree with you in all things. Frequently, I will not. I still believe very firmly in my conviction that your choice is the wrong one._

_I must adhere to my principles, as you must adhere to yours, you maddening devil._

_Yours,_

_Light_

 

* * *

 

It is late September, and the sun will be setting soon. Matsuda has taken them to a nearby meadow, not far outside of Autumn Leaf proper.

 

L takes Light’s hand, leading him in the direction of a clearing.

 

“I’ll just wait here then, shall I?” Matsuda asks, laughing nervously.

 

“Aye, Mr. Matsuda,” calls L, already several paces away. He doesn’t bother to look back. “Thank you kindly.”

 

“Don’t go too far!” shouts Matsuda. “I have parents to answer to, remember! I have to say that I could see you both!”

 

In truth, Light seriously doubts that Matsuda will be much occupied with them at all. He’s taken to re-reading letters from Miss Amane during the time that he spends chaperoning them. When he checks to see if Matsuda is watching, Light often catches him staring at the pages with looks of obvious longing.

 

L carries a tartan blanket under his right arm, left occupied with leading Light along. His grey coat whips around his legs in the wind. When they reach the clearing, L spreads the blanket out and gestures for Light to join him on it.

 

When he and L sit down on their blanket, Light finds that it would actually be very difficult indeed for Matsuda to see them from his place at the carriage. There are tall snapdragons and hollyhocks all around their circle of short grass, taller than either of them are when seated. If Matsuda does not stand upon his place at the driver’s bench of the carriage, he will be hard-pressed to see even the tops of their heads.

 

They sit in silence with each other at first, neither eager to make the opening move. They both know that there is only one subject in their minds right now, and it is not a pleasant one.

 

“I am sure you are wondering about Kiyomi Takada,” L finally says.

 

“The subject of what she may have confessed to you has occurred to me, yes,” Light says, with false flippancy. “While she is being held extra-judiciously.”

 

L sighs. “Light -”

 

Light waves one hand, brushing away his last comment, and sighs too. “Never mind that last bit. What has she told you, then?”

 

“She has said nothing,” says L. “Nothing but invective, at any rate. I am, apparently, the biggest scoundrel born to date, and my mother would have done better to have herself hanged before my birth, rather than give me leave to walk the earth.”

 

Light inhales sharply, wincing. He may be cross with L, and he may disapprove wholeheartedly of L’s methods, but those words leave him with an aching sympathy.

 

What a horrid thing to say to someone who has lost his mother, at so young an age that he never knew her at all.

 

“I’m sorry,” Light murmurs.

 

“It is of no concern,” L says dismissively. Quickly, he adds, “it is not as though I have not returned more vicious tactics in my desire to make her speak.”

 

Light does his best to turn his mind away from what such tactics might entail.

 

“And she has said nothing of consequence? Not let slip even _one_ small, oblique clue?”

 

“Nothing. She is either so committed to her plan that she is at the point of madness or…she is simply exceptionally insubordinate.”

 

“The two are not mutually exclusive,” Light muses. “It could be both.”

 

L laughs bitterly. “I suppose that’s true.”

 

“When will you be releasing her?” asks Light.

 

“…you cannot be serious,” L says, by way of answer. “Surely even if she remains silent – which is not a guaranteed thing, mind you – Autumn Pass is still safer with her in my custody than outside and free. I have made my feeling on this matter quite plain to you, have I not?”

 

“L, you honestly want to simply _keep_ her?” Light asks, incredulous with shock. “She _won’t_ talk, and if you are caught holding her prisoner, you will be charged with kidnapping, at the very least, and -”

 

Light cuts himself off. He can see by L’s expression that he will give no ground in this. So what would be the point of explaining his position further?

 

Light will ground himself in his senses. That is what he will do. His reason has nothing to offer him right now. Arguing with L again on the subject of Kiyomi Takada is fruitless at best, infuriating at worst. It is better if Light just…clears his mind.

 

L is his Suitor, and he is L’s Match, and nothing Light says or does will ever hold more sway than the decisions L makes.  

 

“Never mind,” says Light stiffly. “Do as you will.”

 

The sky is awash with orange and red, vibrant enough to match the changing leaves. Light adores the seasons changing. The blanket under him is warm and soft…the air above him cool and crisp.

 

L remains at his side. Where Light once saw him perfect and steady and steadily perfect, he now knows L better. L is human, and human means flawed. L is no exception to that rule.

 

Light _doesn’t_ agree with his choice, and thinks L is acting wrongly. But…whereas with most people when they do something unwise, Light simply writes them off and dismisses them from his attention, with L…he cannot. That heavy feeling of care and concern for L remains in Light’s heart, as well as an undeniable fixation on him. Light still wants, desperately, hopelessly, to be with him and speak to him and know all that he is.

 

L has not said anything back to him. They’ve been quiet for many minutes now, just watching the clouds above.

 

It isn’t as uncomfortable as it could be. There is a heightened awareness simmering underneath the space between them that could be called awkwardness, were it not so clear what the both of them want to say, and hold themselves back from saying. They’ve decided not to quarrel further, but the matter is not far from the forefront of their minds. When L shifts a bit next to him, Light doesn’t hear it so much as he feels it.

 

“Everything will work out in the end,” L says confidently. “And you shall come to me on bended knee, begging my forgiveness for your ever doubting me, and offering me all manner of penances.”

 

Light scoffs. “May your dreams ever be so bold and bright.”

 

“Oh they are not dreams, Light, but reality. And I have already decided to accept your apologies, for you are too pretty for me to stay angry with forever.”

 

L was right, those months ago, to call himself ‘mercurial.’ For that he is. Very mercurial. Minutes ago he was short-tempered and irritated, ready to go to the mat with Light over a sincerely-held disagreement. Now the irritation has given way to a haughty, self-satisfied air.

 

“You will drive yourself into an early grave, L, I hope you know this,” Light tells him sternly, annoyed with L’s smug complacency. “And you will take me with you, and -”

 

“Light,” L interrupts.

 

Before Light has even one second to respond, L lunges forward and kisses him firmly on the mouth.

 

He kisses Light in small, hard, repeated instances - carefully, but with a heart unafraid of being read. He kisses Light like they have more privacy than they really do. There is high foliage all around them, but that will not be enough to hide them from the view of someone who is determined to see.

 

“You mustn’t…” L mutters, in between kisses, “think so much….Light.”

 

“There is no such thing....as thinking too much...” Light insists. “Only thinking too little.”

 

L pulls back a bit, looking down at Light with something smug playing around his eyes. “Oh, I beg to differ. Thinking very little can be a great virtue.”

 

“Oh?” asks Light, pretending to have no interest except that which is polite and refined. Pretending not to see the meaning which underlies L’s words. “Do you believe so?”

 

L nods and leans forward again. His mouth takes Light’s, and they kiss as before.

 

He pulls Light down to the blanket, so that they are both lying on it rather than sitting.

 

Light does not resist, cursing himself for reacting yet again to L’s dark eyes and darker voice.

 

The man frustrates Light to no end, and very readily makes him question _both_ of their sanities, but Light cannot deny that L is skilled at this. And he cannot deny his own reactions to it. L’s lips brush carefully, catching Light’s bottom lip in between them and applying the most wonderful, firm pressure.

 

_Would be better if he could only use his mouth for this instead of for arguing with me_ , Light thinks sardonically. _Idiot genius that he is._

 

As if sensing that Light is again distracted by his own mind, L ups the ante. He tilts Light’s jaw up and toward himself, opening Light’s mouth. The kiss turns decidedly less innocent (if it could ever have been called that in the first place).

 

L’s tongue is a searing heat against Light’s, a strict taskmaster that demands his obedience. Demands his _submission_. Light fights, if only because he can, if only because it is better that way – sweeter, rougher, more challenging – to play at being the tiger. L doesn’t enjoy having his authority contested…or so he tells himself. Light believes he enjoys it more than he will ever admit. Light believes that, more than wanting his submission handed out on a silver platter, L wants to _earn_ his submission. L wants Light’s submission, and he wants to show himself the proof that he is worthy of it.

 

So Light’s mouth makes mischief.

 

He feels a smirking grin break out across L’s lips, even as they kiss, as if L is telling him that he is amused by Light’s antics, small and ineffective though they may be.

 

_I’ll indulge you, little pet,_ L’s mouth says, _but not forever_.

 

Gradually, with a stepwise increase that corresponds exactly to the stepwise increase in the tense energy between them, L takes back control. He seeks deeper reaches of Light’s mouth, and the wet slide of their tongues inches closer and closer to the line which separates _ardent_ from _obscene._ He leans ever further over Light, caging him in with the breadth of his shoulders and the weight of his chest.

 

And, between one moment and the next, L swings one of his legs over one of Light’s.

 

Light inhales sharply, frozen and struck dumb.

 

L makes some sort of questioning noise. He sounds far too casual, far too controlled, and Light wonders if he is the only one here who feels…who feels…

 

A few seconds tick by, during which Light cannot make any answering sound of his own. And then L begins to pull away.

 

But that is enough to spring Light out of the prison his body has thrown him into. He doesn’t want L anywhere except where L already is, and so he thinks of a way to hold him there. It wouldn’t be too much too soon, would it, if Light were to slide his hand into L’s hair?

 

He tries it, and it works too well. The black strands are thick and wild and luxurious between his fingers. L presses dangerously closer, and Light feels him catch his bottom lip again, and suck at it.

 

Involuntarily, Light’s fingers curl, so that he is clenching down on the locks of L’s hair, probably too hard for comfort. But L doesn’t protest. He sucks harder, and tilts Light’s jaw at an angle more convenient to himself.

 

It only becomes more perilous from there. The kiss turns lewd, either through Light’s eagerness or L’s predacious nature. It is a wet, slick thing, more intimate than Light should allow. Light feels his skin light up all of a sudden, as if with a fire lit from the inside. The autumn air feels even colder by contrast.

 

L pulls their mouths apart long enough to murmur, “You burn,” in a sinful voice.

 

Light slides his hand to the back of L’s neck, pulls him in again - both to stop L from seeing what must be a spectacular blush on his cheeks and also because he wants more.

 

L gives him what he wants, more and deeper and hotter, somehow ending up on top of Light, chest to toe. He is lying in between Light’s legs, which fell apart in a distressingly welcoming fashion somewhere along the way. With every rapid rise and fall of his chest, Light can feel L’s sharp ribs digging into him, can feel the solid weight of him everywhere.

 

He wants and he wants and he wants _so badly_.

 

He feels L’s lips pressing against the corner of his mouth, his chin, the line of his jaw. He hears L speaking to him in that same dark murmur.

 

“Gods, but the _heat_ coming off of you…how can you…how can I….”

 

There is a voice in his head (a small voice, weak and pathetic) telling Light that he ought to stop this, that the situation is spiraling outside of his control.

 

Light’s free hand finds its way to L’s waist, where it grips the fabric of his waistcoat, trying to pull him closer. It isn’t as though L could really _be_ any closer, though, not without being _inside_ of Light, and _gods_ _what a thought_ …

 

L has found a place just below Light’s ear where he has dedicated himself to the task of biting softly, then licking, then biting again, over and over. Light clenches his teeth against the sounds that are trying to claw their way up and out of his throat. They are tiny, mewling little moan-whimpers that he will never forgive himself for.

 

L moves down, inches lower, and kisses at Light’s neck. Light knows what L will do…knows what will happen when L does…but Light can’t…he can’t _stop himself_ –

 

L bites down, barely able to suck the skin there at all before Light cries out with a needy, gasping breath. His eyes fly open, and his body undulates in some instinctual way, pressing against every inch of L that he can reach, and then away again, in a slow roll.

 

L wrenches himself sharply away, all the pressure of his body gone from Light, and throws himself to the blanket again. Light misses the feel of him like he has never missed anything else before. He stares at the sky without really seeing it, panting heavily, like he has been doing far more than just _lying on a blanket with L good gods in heaven that was incredible_.

 

L is panting too, just as heavily. Light hears it when he gasps out, “We need to stop…we need to…we need to stop.”

 

Light feels like he can’t move. (Feels like he _shouldn’t_ move, rather. He _shouldn’t_ move, because if he does, it will be to climb on top of L and - )

 

“Alright. Alright…I just…I need a moment,” he finds himself saying.

 

It is all so different than simply looking through L’s illicit books by himself late at night. Alone near a flickering candle, Light feels _something_ , yes…but it is the forbidden thrill of scandalous knowledge. Perhaps, too, the stirrings brought about by his wicked imagination. But _this_ …this rush of _need_ …the feeling that his control over his own body has never been more tenuous…the alarming thought of testing that control to its breaking point…it is all so new to Light, brought about by contact with his Suitor. Contact, which is so much more powerful than any letters they might exchange about the contents of a book, no matter how explicit.

 

Even now, in full knowledge that he could jeopardize their entire union if they were caught, Light feels the temptation to reach out and touch L again, like it is a need no less difficult to deny than his need of food and water and air to breathe.   

 

Everything feels hazy and unreal somehow. He doesn’t recognize himself, doesn’t recognize this creature he has become so suddenly, and will it always be this way? How will he survive? How will he survive when they actually…when they…

 

“Would that I were one of those pleasure-givers, like you were gifted with in the Desert Plains,” Light murmurs quietly, daring himself to speak the words and accepting his own challenge. They settle into air between them and hang there like the scent of jasmine in bloom. “Would that I were allowed to offer you some satisfaction.”

 

L makes a sound that is very difficult indeed for Light to describe. If pressed, he would call it something halfway similar to the whimper of one in pain and halfway similar to a…a lecher’s moan.

 

“You…” L begins, and cuts himself off with another one of those unfamiliar sounds. “You would not remain a pleasure-giver any longer, after that. I would take you from such employment at once, and remove from you the title of ‘giver,’ for I would stop you from ever giving pleasure again, expect if it were to give pleasure to me.”

 

Light has no words with which to formulate a reply. He can only swallow thickly.  

 

There is the sound of the creek in the distance, and the lazy buzzing of insects, but nothing more, as they lay there on the blanket together. Gradually, and with a great effort, Light slows down his breathing and pushes away most of the fog that clouds his mind.

 

“Shall we,” he begins, failing halfway through because of the dryness of his throat. He coughs. Tries again. “Shall we…return to Matsuda, then?”

 

“ _Ja_ ,” L says, with a heavy exhale.

 

Light stares. “…may I take that to mean ‘yes?’”

 

“Sorry, sorry,” says L, waving a hand vaguely in the air. “I…forgot myself. Yes. We shall, if only because I suppose we must.”

 

Light feels a strange mixture of pride and curiosity. He hopes that he is correct about just what it was that made L ‘forget’ himself.

 

“Will you teach it to me?” he asks. “Your native tongue?”

 

One side of L’s mouth curls up into a languid smile. He is laying on his back, and he lets his head fall to one side to look Light in the eye. “If you like. You’ll likely pick it up over time…at least some bits…given…well…this sort of thing. It seems I don’t...translate completely…when we are occupied.”

 

This impressive morsel of information sets Light’s mind to racing with things he really shouldn’t be concerning himself with right now. 

 

Could he really pull the language right out of L’s mind, with nothing but his touch?

 

But Light does not have the time to allow his thoughts to run their (wicked, thrilling) course.

 

Matsuda is whistling, and waving his arms wildly.

 

“Come on, you guys! If I let you stay out here past sunset, I’ll be flayed alive!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Credit to BBC Sherlock for my use of the term “pressure point,” which L references in his argument with Light about Kiyomi.
> 
> I do apologize for the long wait since the last update! 
> 
> Life has certainly been busy for BC3 and I. We’ve gotten engaged! I’m so incredibly happy, and wedding plans are in progress. We’ll be married on December 28, 2018, which is our ninth anniversary of being together. We’ve also moved, and have had to deal with me breaking a leg so badly that it required two surgeries. I used the time being off of work and recovering to write as much as I was able. BC3 has been so incredible in taking care of me during all the chaos. And, as always, she has been instrumental in editing this chapter and providing ideas when I really needed them. All my love, darling! 
> 
> I hope this chapter doesn’t feel too…filler-ish. I’ve worked hard to keep the plot moving forward, but it always ends up with two steps forward and one step back. Or so it seems to me. Maybe I’m just impatient for further developments between L and Light. Lol 
> 
> One point of clarification: it seems that some readers took last chapter’s Match Celebration to be the actual wedding, which is a separate event! L and Light aren’t married yet. Match Celebrations are more like the engagement parties of today. So they still have to abide by the Courtship Regulations and everything else. (It’s my job as the writer to make that clear and it seems that I didn’t do so within the story itself! Sorry!)
> 
> As always, thank you so much to every single reader, especially those who leave kudos, comments, and reviews. Each one means so much to me. All of you have been exceedingly kind and welcoming toward this somewhat outlandish fic, and I appreciate it so much. 
> 
> For information on future updates, follow me on Tumblr @mgcmind. 
> 
> Until next time! 
> 
> \- Magic


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